Princess Diaries
by CompanionWanderer
Summary: The Chronicles of Prydain: Eilonwy's years on Mona, written from her own point of view. Mostly humorous teen angst, smattering of drama and romance. Introspective and rambling, more character than plot.
1. Beginnings

The _Chronicles of Prydain_, and all characters therein, belong to the wonderful Lloyd Alexander, to whom I owe many hours of joy and inspiration.

Be warned at the outset: this fic has no plot. We know from Eilonwy's own testimony that nothing exciting happens on Mona. This is mainly a creative exercise for me, as I thought it would be amusing to explore her personality through her own thoughts as she blows off steam, and also to flesh out some details of the world of Prydain that we aren't given in the books. I have tried to stay within canon, only adding characters and events that _could_ have happened, even if we weren't told about them.

Readers need not point out that my writing is nothing like Mr. Alexander's. He writes with an elegance and simplicity I could not hope to emulate. But I do hope that in my own fashion I do justice to his wonderful characters. Enjoy!

* * *

I've never done this before.

Write for myself, I mean. It always seemed like a silly idea; writing something I didn't intend anyone to ever read. But I find myself picking up a quill in desperation.

It was Dallben's idea, of course – it was he who gave me this book before I left, saying that I might find it useful, for if I could get as many words as possible onto the paper, there'd be fewer left to come spilling out of my mouth at inopportune moments. I ought to have been vexed by such a remark, but you can't be vexed with Dallben; his eyes dance at you so. It's odd to see such young eyes in such an old face. But we shall see if he was right.

Goodness knows I need _something_ to spill words upon, for there's no one here to talk to intelligently and such a dreadful lot to talk _about._ Sometimes I think if Queen Teleria tells me once more to hold my tongue and attend to my work, I shall burst like a ruptured seawall and roar gloriously. She has a _look_ she gives me – her eyebrows cocked and her mouth pursed like a tightened drawstring – and every time I see it I have the perverse inclination to jump onto the nearest table and screech out bawdy drinking songs at the top of my lungs. What a pity I don't actually know any.

There, _that_ was something I needed to say and couldn't. Perhaps Dallben was right after all. I do feel better; it's one thought _out_, one thought less to go bouncing and crowding about in my head until I'm sure it must be swelling like an overripe pumpkin.

I should never have the time for this were it not for the interminable two hours a day when all the ladies must retire to their chambers for "rest" – as if we'd been doing anything that could possibly require it! Although I admit that sitting over needlework for hours at a time _is_ exhausting, in a mind-numbing, neck-kinking sort of way; it has nothing of the satisfying weariness you feel after a day of farm work. Of course I never looked breathlessly forward to a day of hard labor at Caer Dallben, and certainly there was nothing glamorous about it, but at least it had a real purpose that made you feel like you'd done something worthwhile with your day.

But, oh yes, the "rest" period. (I actually heard Aeronwen refer to it as her "beauty sleep" yesterday –ugh.) It has been an ugly fortnight, trying to find something to occupy myself during this wretched two hours – the first day I just came up and screamed into pillows until I was hoarse – but today I remembered this book. At least it will be a way to pass the time more satisfactorily than pacing the floor like a mad thing, or staring out the window and wondering what Taran and Coll and Gurgi were doing at this moment, which only makes me so miserably lonely that I have difficulty holding back tears. Indeed I have indulged in them a time or two, and then had to feign illness to keep from going down to supper, for I will _not_ appear with red blotchy eyes for all the women to gossip over and the queen to "tsk" at me about.

I suppose I should begin with a bit of explanation over why I am here, and where "here" is, on the unlikely chance that anyone else should ever read this, or in case I grow too old to remember such details. (Strange thought!) Very well. I am staying – I can't call it _living_ – at Dinas Rhydnant, the castle of King Rhuddlum and Queen Teleria, rulers of the Isle of Mona, which is the closest land to my own ancestral castle, Caer Colur – but more on that later. I suppose they are distant relations in some way, and that is why I was sent to them, unless it was simply that they were the only ones who would take me, since it seems they have their own purposes for me in mind – but more on that later, as well.

This isn't my preference. I was sent here from Caer Dallben, a small farm in the countryside in the mainland, where I'd been living quite happily for the past four years. I supposed I would continue on there permanently with no obstacles, but last spring Dallben seemed to decide out of nowhere that I wasn't being brought up properly. He decreed I should be sent away to someone who would train me as a young lady, and as what Dallben decrees always happens, one way or another, here I am.

I am still a bit put out about his reasons. Although my new associations with nobility have made it very clear what he meant – the criticisms of my atrocious manners, unrefined tastes, and general un-ladylikeness always being uttered distinctly within my earshot – I fail to see why I need such things changed. I have every intention of returning to Caer Dallben and living out my days there, as long as certain inhabitants are agreeable – and they are, or else I am much mistaken – and I don't see what good my current training is going to do me. Lessons in fancy embroidery are wasted when the sewing consists of making jackets and patching leggings – which Coll has already taught me to do. I don't think I need to know the fine arts of conversation or the subtle sciences of governance in order to feed pigs and pull weeds. And all this prancing about, learning to curtsy and hold one's head just so and walk "as though your feet never touched the earth", as the queen puts it, will come in so handy in the scullery!

How shocked all the women would be if I admitted I wanted to go back to all these things. None of them have ever done a day of real work in their lives. Fancy Aeronwen feeding a pig!

Of course the real reason I'm being trained, from their point of view, is quite clear. I've never told anyone here my intention to return to Caer Dallben, and the king and queen are quite content in the destiny they've laid out for me. They think I don't know about it, but I'm well aware they intend me for their son.

I should be honored, I suppose. Obviously they consider me worthy to reign, though no doubt they base that opinion only some vague notion of royal blood and not my actual qualities, or else they'd have tossed me out within a few days. I'm sure the queen expects my natural inborn good breeding to surface any day now, like buried treasure, to justify all their hope and efforts. I feel a little guilty when I think of how they'll be disappointed, which is irksome. After all, no one asked me first – if they had, I could have told them, and they wouldn't be wasting their time. The only reason I don't 'fess up now is that I promised I'd stay here and learn all that was required, and I don't want to ruin it and likely get sent somewhere else to start over.

It's not that Rhun is so very bad. On the contrary, he's quite good – one of the only truly good souls I've ever met. There's no guile in him at all. He's got an appalling lack of common sense, but does seem to be improving, and he's so well-intentioned that somehow you don't mind his mistakes. He'll be a good king if he has the right sort of advisors. And the right sort of queen, who is definitely not me. Not I, I should say. I can just hear Queen Teleria correcting my grammar. But in any case, I could never marry Rhun. It's a curse of royalty that they are so often obliged to marry for politics rather than love, and it's one I don't intend to let fall on me. My realm is on the bottom of the sea – I have no obligations to it, and expecting me to behave as if I do is like chaining me to drown alongside it.

I do not look forward to the day I dash their expectations. After all, from their point of view, it was generous of them to take me, and they are kind to me, beyond the irritation of all these pointless lessons, though even that is all "for my own good", I know. But it does annoy me the way the queen constantly praises Rhun in my presence, though less annoying than it would be if her praise was all true. As it is, she's so far off the mark, I can laugh to myself about it.

Rhun himself is sweet and friendly to me, and I prefer his company to anyone else's here, because he is so unpretentious and…and _real._ I feel the sort of familial affection for him one might feel for a rather simple younger brother. He knows of his parents' plans, I think – it's impossible for him to hide anything – but we haven't discussed it yet. I hate the thought of hurting his feelings even more than offending the king and queen by refusing him. But it can't be helped. Imagining myself as Rhun's wife makes me snort amusedly and squirm at the same time. I just know all his children would have that round, pink moon face of his.

Anyhow…I've been here a fortnight now; it seems an eternity, and no end in sight. I promised Taran I would learn everything as fast as I could, but I appear to be utterly backward at the sort of things I'm being taught. The queen says it's because I don't really want to learn and that I'd make excellent progress if I weren't so recalcitrant. How does one make oneself _want_ to learn such things? I fear I am starting far too late in the process.

The rest hours are almost up – I know because the shadow of my window casing has moved to the very edge of the carpet. The days I've spent watching that wretched shadow! But the time has flown by today, while I've been writing. I should have trusted that Dallben would know. After all, he's always writing in that everlasting _Book of Three._

Perhaps when I next see Flewddur I can persuade him to teach me some bawdy drinking songs.


	2. The Daily Grind

It occurs to me I should date these. Today is the fifth day of Equos, darktime.

Oh, how glad I am I've begun this! But I was so eager for "rest hour" today I believe I have given Queen Teleria hope – she actually remarked upon my not sighing heavily and leaving the dining hall as if I were being led to the gallows, which is a first. But she did give me the _look_ when I mentioned I would need more ink – lots of it.

Another relentless morning. They are all the same. I usually awaken near dawn, for the windows of my room are to the east, and I can't bear to draw the curtains round my bed, which makes me feel as though I'm choking in a closet. Apparently everyone else except the servants continues to sleep for several hours, so I have a short space of time in which to run about without being harassed. Dinas Rhydnant is dismally un-mysterious as castles go; no secret passages or forbidden towers that I can discover, but there is a beautiful big grassy area just past the south courtyard, where they keep the kennels. It's a lovely place to run, and if the dogs are out they are delightful. No one from the kennels has reported me so far; perhaps they feel that anyone the dogs trust can be up to no mischief.

There are no decent trees; we are too near the sea and the salty air stunts all but a few spindly pines, so there is no good climbing. Running is the only exercise to be had, so I try to get my fill of it in preparation for the endless hours of motionless sitting that fill the rest of the day. I had to raid the servants' quarters to find something decent to wear; all my garments seem to have more fabric than they know what to do with and the skirts are horrible things to run in. I bought a worn-out tunic and leggings from a stable boy; they reeked of horse but I managed to wash them in my rooms and now I keep them tucked between the mattresses of my bed. I hate to think of the queen's expression if she ever comes upon me prowling about in such clothes!

After playing about a bit I go to my rooms to change, just in time for Eirliss to come get me up and bring my breakfast. Eirliss is my ladies maid, a darling thing of fourteen. She was assigned to me my fourth day here; before that I had Betrys, a tall old spinster with a pinched-in face who disliked me from the moment she saw me. We had a glorious row after I refused for the third time to let her dress me from the skin out, which is apparently the tradition for noble ladies. She shrieked about the impropriety of a lady putting on her own shifts and I roared and threw silk slippers at her until she fled the room. It was most satisfying, in spite of the scolding I got later. She was replaced the very next day, and I can manage Eirliss. She lets me do things my own way, in spite of her misgivings.

The ladies all have breakfast in bed. I detest it. Perhaps they do not share my talent for dropping crumbs and spilling things into the bedclothes. Eirliss brings my tray to the window seat, and I eat looking out at the sea.

I long to roam about the shore and explore among the rocks and coves, but I'm not allowed to leave the castle grounds alone, and when a party does go out for merriment, I must stay with the ladies, who do not engage in vulgar activities like wading in the surf. No, they sit on cushions and complain about the wind, and squeal when the gulls fly too close. Disgusting. I have only been on one such "picnic", and all their foolishness couldn't _quite_ ruin it. I sat as far away from the group as I could and gazed out at the water until the line between it and the sky faded. The wind off the sea washed over me, salty and tangy and wild, and I wondered what my mother must have thought about as she looked out over it, and from where over that great brooding tossing thing my ancestors had come. The crying of the gulls was like something tugging at my spirit. It was heavenly…that is, until Queen Teleria said my expression was too exhilarated and suggestive and I should move back to the pavilion to keep my robes out of the sand.

But I'm leaving my point, which was to chronicle my day. After breakfast I get dressed with a bit of help from Eirliss, which it irks me to accept, but it's necessary when all one's laces are in the back – a silly feature that plagues all fine clothing, it seems. Then down to the sewing rooms for the embroidery lesson.

I suppose I should be glad it's not weaving, which seems even more tedious. At least with embroidery you get to be a bit creative. Some of the women make things which are quite beautiful. It's not that I don't appreciate the art…it's just that it's so monotonous, and I have no skill for it. I just can't make the threads do what the picture in my mind says they should, and I'm so clumsy with it that half the time I'm untangling threads or nursing my needle-pricked fingers. I've lost more blood from those dratted needles than swinging a sword ever cost me.

The worst of it isn't the sewing; it's having to listen to all the women gossiping, for the hour is a lesson only for me – for everyone else, it's simply their time to gather and socialize as they work. Some of them do it all day; I don't know how they find the patience. The older women prattle on about their husbands and children, while the girls my age giggle and talk about their young men, or moan about the lack of them. I don't know quite what to make of them. Some of them seem friendly toward me and yet there is something I don't trust about them, while a few are subtly hostile, and one I loathed on sight, a feeling that is manifestly mutual. I shall enjoy describing them all in this book some day, but it will have to wait.

After an hour of embroidery comes deportment – a lesson with the royal governess in which I am the eldest student, as all the other girls my age, having grown up in these circles, already know how and to whom to curtsy and in what order, and whether one allows one's hand to be kissed first by a lord and then a prince or the other way 'round. It is humiliating having to practice such things in front of a bunch of little girls, the eldest of whom is nine, but they at least seem enough in awe of me not to snicker in my presence. Queen Teleria drops by every few days to check my progress, and no matter how well I've done during the lessons, I always manage to trip over my own skirt or forget some crucial ceremonial word when she is watching.

At least thrice a fortnight, I am taken out of deportment to be tutored privately by the queen on matters of law and rule, which is rather interesting, but would be more so if she weren't always interrupting it to say that of course these matters belong to the king to decide and regulate. It can't be altogether true, or else she wouldn't know so much; I'm sure it is meant mainly to show me my proper place.

Dinner follows, in the hall, usually with the royal family and various other nobles. It is then I am expected to show my new deportment skills to the best effect, a task at which I usually fail miserably, and am constantly reprimanded to stop licking a knife or chew a bite at least ten times before swallowing. The king pretends not to notice, and Rhun, bless him, doesn't have to pretend – he doesn't notice at all. He listens eagerly and looks disappointed when Queen Teleria tells me it is unladylike to talk so much or to tell such vulgar stories.

After dinner – the "rest hours", and now my time to write! Two wonderful hours that only days ago were so miserable.

Often there is some merriment happening in the afternoon: the seaside picnic I mentioned, or we all go riding – dreadful, as I have to go sidesaddle. But if there is nothing planned, I must go back to the sewing rooms, and either work on my embroidery or help with the spinning. I am not fond of spinning, which I used to do at Caer Dallben, but anything is better than that dratted embroidery, and at least, what with the bath oils and lotions and what-all, my hands do not dry out and snag on the fibers here as they used to. Coll used to tell me to rub tallow into them, but I couldn't bear the thought.

Supper is another ordeal, only with a bigger crowd. They haven't had another feast yet like the first night I came here, and I'm looking forward to the next one. At least then there is music and dancing and such (oh, yes, that's another one of my lessons: dancing, twice a fortnight. I like it, but I wish the dances weren't so slow and structured. I'd much rather learn the sort of dancing I saw some servants doing in the courtyard once – fast, with lots of kicking about, clicking of heels, and stomping). We seem always to be eating some terribly complicated thing – last night it was some horrid little game bird full of crunching bones, and you aren't allowed to make faces while you chew. I believe I could be choking on a bone splinter and expected to die with a smile on my perfectly balanced head.

After supper I am allowed to do as I please, as long as it involves nothing vulgar – a label which the queen applies to most activities I enjoy, so in practical terms the only thing I can really do is walk about. But I like to walk through the gardens, or out on the battlements. Sometimes Rhun comes along and we have a good chat; other times I go alone to the watchtower to see the sunset and think…and remember things.

Before bed I'm supposed to have a bath and wash my hair, but I've convinced Eirliss to draw my bath every other day and that my hair only needs washing every three or four. It's as much as I can stand; if Queen Teleria had her way my head would never be dry.

Another two hours gone! I suppose it's too much to expect that I won't run out of things to write about before my time here at Mona is finished. But I mean to employ every thought at my disposal to the process while I can.


	3. People in the Neighborhood

Sixth day of Equos, darktime

Today seems a good time to describe some of the people around here. It is a worrisome circumstance that I find myself looking viciously forward to describing those I don't like. There will be something satisfying about it, like sucking a sore tooth, but I shouldn't be so quick to find fault in people. At least, that's what Dallben always said.

I've already written of Rhun and Queen Teleria, though I've made the queen sound quite fussy. She _is_ fussy but never cross, and quite good natured, really; perhaps raising Rhun has given her great patience. King Rhuddlum is kind to me, and seems a capable enough king, although it's easy to see where Rhun got his addled wits; the king is always repeating himself, and, like his son, is easily amused by the simplest of things. But altogether they are pleasant people, and wear their nobility without pretence.

I can't say the same for some of the ladies; chiefly some of the ones my age – I don't know enough about the older ones to describe them properly, beyond the fact that their attitude toward me seems to be one of vague disapproval. The main social circle of girls revolves around one Aeronwen, the seventeen-year-old daughter of some cousin or other of the king. She is the one I loathed at once, and I daresay she feels the same; Eirliss has shared a rumor that Aeronwen was prepared to despise me because she herself had been passed over as a suitable bride for the prince. I can't imagine her being in love with him, so I suppose she was simply looking forward to ruling Mona. She's welcome to it, as far as I'm concerned, but I wouldn't wish such a thing upon poor Rhun.

We haven't had a true row yet, but I daresay the day is approaching. I've no doubt I'll be the one to start it, because although she insults me at every opportunity, she does it in a subtle, backhanded way that cloaks itself as friendliness. She bares her snapping teeth in a sneering smile when I ask her what she means and makes condescending remarks about how of course I couldn't understand, what with the disadvantages of my upbringing. It always makes me imagine how she would look if someone were to shave her eyebrows and chop her hair off with a dull ploughshare. Like a nutcracker, I expect…she has the jaw for it.

She's a very pretty girl in general opinion, popular with the young men, who fawn over her like perfect idiots, always praising the lustrous shine of her hair and the roses in her cheeks and all such nonsense. She treats them with all the respect such prancing pups deserve; I often overhear her in the midst of her group of girls in the sewing room, boasting of some compliment she's been paid lately and making fun of the one who paid it. She has a small devoted group of girls for friends, whose loyalty is retained out of fear of her animosity or hope of sharing her influence, I believe. They treat me with varying degrees of coolness but are too weak to bother about.

I believe Achren must have been like Aeronwen as a girl.

I find more pleasant company among the servants. Eirliss is delightful; now and then when I talk her into being more at ease she chatters freely about herself and her family. She shares my dislike for Aeronwen and those of her ilk, and saves juicy bits of information about them picked up from the other maids to laugh over with me in the evenings before bed. She's a shy, delicate thing and flits around my chamber like a little brown wren in a cage, always glancing wistfully out the casements when she passes them.

Then there are the stablehands and kennel-keepers, older men for the most part and wonderfully pleased when anyone shows interest in the horses and dogs. The horsemaster is a rather crusty old fellow named Morwen, who growls at me when I visit, snorts when I speak, and yet eyes the young stable lads venomously if they show any signs of getting too familiar with me, and always seems, coincidentally, to have a few spare apple slices on hand for me to pass out among the horses. I saw him give one of Aeronwen's squealing friends a disgusted look once when she jumped at big stallion's flicking an ear in her direction during a riding party, and that was enough to make me like him.

Then there is the governess who teaches deportment, Mistress Rhona. Short, round, old, smelling of lavender, she always looks like she's just sat on a pine cone but is too polite to complain. Her nervousness makes me so jumpy sometimes I simply want to smack her, and then I feel guilty, for it would be like slapping someone's grandmother. But it is impossible to be as composed as she is trying to teach me to be with her fluttering about like a butterfly in a net. Just when I think I have the correct behavior down and the right words memorized, I catch a watery blue gaze from her twitching eyes and it all flies right out of my head. She is better at dealing with the little girls; I think she simply does not know what to do with me.

Ah, well...I have lost interest in this now; my circle is limited. Perhaps I should instead be describing the people I wish I were with! Or is it, with whom I wish I were…that doesn't sound right either. Well, nevertheless…though it will likely make me fearfully depressed…

There weren't many of us at Caer Dallben but it was enough. Dallben is an enchanter – the most powerful in Prydain, though you wouldn't know it to look at him. He's so old and bent and frail-seeming he looks as though a puff of wind would blow him away, trailing his long whiskers behind. His face is a mass of lines, with more lines criss-crossed over those for good measure, and the lack of hair on his head is made up for in his eyebrows alone. But his eyes are grey and keen and clear, and they twinkle and flash by turns. You always feel a bit odd if you look at his eyes too long…as though the knowledge of a thousand worlds lay in them, and the weight of it could bury you. And there's also the uncomfortable sensation that they are piercing right into you and reading your every thought. He is often testy but I have never seen him truly angry, yet everyone in the house dances to his piping. He sleeps and meditates most of the time and doesn't say much, but what he does say is always worth listening to.

Coll is the real owner of Caer Dallben; he built it before Dallben ever came there, and I've never been clear why Dallben is the master of it, unless it is simply Dallben's way to be master wherever he is. Many years ago Coll was a great warrior, and still has the strong bearing and scars to prove it. But it is difficult for me to imagine Coll in any sort of battle rage; he is calm and quiet like a summer day, and moves with the patient deliberation of one who knows earth and trees and beasts as well as he knows himself. He laughs heartily when he is amused, and speaks plain sensible things about weather and milking and what phase of the moon one should plant potatoes in. He was married once, years ago before even Taran lived here, but his wife died very young. He speaks of her now and then wistfully, but it's been so long that I think her memory does not pain him. He kept some of her things, though – it was her clothing that got made over for me when I had outgrown my own, and the first time I wore one of her old dresses, he looked at me with a sad and thoughtful expression, like someone trying to remember a troubling dream. It must have cost him a great deal to give her things to me, and yet he seemed glad to do it. He is not handsome – he is barrel-shaped and bald, and weathered from so much time in sun and wind – but his face is kind, and his hands are gentle. His wife must have been happy with him for the short time she lived.

I'm not sure whether to include Gurgi with the animals or with us. No one knows where he came from or really what he is; Taran picked him up somehow shortly before I met him and Gurgi won't be got rid of. Not that anyone would want to. He is shaped something like a man, but smaller, and looks as though some of the length was taken out of his legs and put in his arms instead. He is completely covered with hair and typically quite dirty, and his face is uncannily like a dog's on a human head. I am reminded of him often, in fact, when I visit the kennels; the way the dogs fawn at your feet and paw at you, the way they plead with their eyes, the way they wriggle all over when they are pleased, and the way their ears prick up or droop along with their moods: all are qualities Gurgi possesses, with the additional benefit of speech. To be sure, Gurgi's speech has a personality all its own, but I often think it's how the dogs _would_ talk if they _could_. He can be a nuisance, but he is so pitifully eager to be helpful you can't be vexed with him, although Taran often pretends to be. But even _he_ can't pretend with any sincerity to dislike someone who worships him so devotedly, for Gurgi adores Taran to the point where I believe he'd willingly give up his life for him.

The only animal of great enough importance to warrant mention here is Coll's white pig, Hen Wen, who is apparently oracular, though I've never seen any manifestations of it. But it must be true, since legend has it that she was once stolen by Arawn himself, necessitating her rescue from Annuvin by none other than Coll the warrior. You'd never think it to look at her, though she's a lovely pig. And really it is she I have to thank for my place at Caer Dallben at all, as it was her running away that put Taran on the trail that eventually led to my meeting him.

And Taran…but he'll have to wait. I've saved him for last, and the shadow has reached the carpet edge.


	4. Situations of Insinuation

Seventh day of Equos, darktime.

Oh, I could scream. I _will_ scream. Or else I'll go mad and break something.

There. How fortunate they make pillows so thick here. They muffle things amazingly.

I had much ado to keep from clawing Aeronwen's bile-green eyes out during dinner today. She had the gall to make such insinuations…ooh, I feel like screaming again.

I should start at the beginning. Ever since coming here and the whole horrible scandal, being kidnapped and then rescued from Achren – I shall have to explain all that later when I'm not so angry – I've suspected that part of the reason some of the girls didn't take to me was all the chaos of those first few days. If I could have slipped in quietly and settled in to my lessons, they'd have barely noticed; I realize that now, although at the time the thought of settling in to anything put me in a fine temper. But as it was, the whole thing created such a stir, it was all anyone talked about for days. Never mind it was their own treacherous Chief Steward who caused the trouble; I was the focal point of the whole thing, and therefore tongues wagged constantly about me. I'm only beginning to realize what sort of stories were circulating.

Today at dinner I was seated rather far from the royal family, and across from Aeronwen – a bad omen if ever there was one – who was odiously twittering with the girl on her left about some visiting dignitary, who had brought a son with him…a young, available son, devastatingly handsome according to all accounts. Of course Aeronwen was ravenously curious; it's disgusting to see her throwing herself so brazenly at young men - Eirliss says it's rumored among the maids that all her gowns are padded in the bust and she has been known to send a festival garment back three times, demanding that it be cut lower. I don't know why she thinks she needs to pop out of her bodice like a common wench in order to attract the men, who flock around her anyway, but it's none of my business.

I suppose I didn't look absorbed enough in her sparkling conversation, for she presently turned to me with that catlike smile and purred, "What's the matter, Eilonwy? Don't _you_ want to meet the Lord Trefor, after everything we've all heard?"

I smiled back at her with my teeth clenched. "It's likely I'll meet him at some point whether I want to or not," I said, more to make her mad than anything else, for it's true I'm usually the one who's present during such things – more grooming for rulership! "I shall be interested to see if he's as handsome as his reputation, which I doubt. But it makes no difference to me, either way."

Her lips tightened around her smile like a nearly-sprung trap. "Of course," she said, in her honey-sweet voice, and laughed lightly. "I forgot. You're not interested in… _noble_ men."

"Whatever do you mean?" I said, just as sweetly, though I heard a warning whisper through my mind.

Her eyes widened. "Why, dear, why would you be? With that pig-keeper of yours doting on you?" A chorus of giggles and knowing looks passed between the other girls, and I felt my face warming. Aeronwen's smile grew lecherous. "It must be so much more…invigorating," she said, "living with a country lad. I hear it compensates for their rough ways." More giggling. Some of the girls had the grace to blush, but several smirked at me, as if daring me to answer.

And there I was, facing at least five pairs of accusing eyes. I felt…ashamed, somehow, and that made me furious, for I've nothing to be ashamed of. It actually took me a moment to think of something to say, which is a new thing in my experience, but I daresay it sprang out of repressing my first impulse to pour her goblet contents right down her low-cut neckline. It gave me time to realize that feigning complete ignorance about what she was getting at was the only way I would get out of it gracefully.

"I'm sure I don't understand," I said, widening my eyes in perfect imitation of her. "Farm work is rough, I admit, but living in the country _is_ invigorating, no matter whom you happen to be living with, I should think." I smiled innocently.

Her eyes narrowed and then she looked disgusted and sat back with a sigh. I chewed thoughtfully for a moment and added, "As for being doted upon by anyone, why should that prevent me from being interested in anyone else?" I raised my wine goblet to her conspiratorially. "It doesn't seem to stop you."

Her cheeks darkened and a couple of her minions giggled. One even murmured something in affirmation, but was silenced by a murderous glance. I looked away as if I hadn't meant anything by it, but I could nearly feel her eyes boring into my face like twin suns. I was still mad enough to take a bite out of my plate, so I kept drinking in order to hide my face in the goblet. I would have been staggeringly drunk in a few more moments if dinner hadn't ended – no one is allowed to leave until the king does – and I raced up here to take out my rage where it couldn't be gossiped about.

So that's what all the snickering is about among Aeronwen's little group. No doubt she jumped to her own conclusions and then spread them as far as she could. How like her to assume everyone is as loose as she is rumored to be. I only hope that most everyone here is sensible enough not to believe any tale that originates with her.

I was going to write all about Taran today and I'd been looking forward to it. Now she's spoiled that, too. Aurrgghhh….no. I _will not_ allow Aeronwen to spoil things that are dear to me. Especially not thinking of Taran.

Drat the girl. I suppose I should at least tell of how she knew about Taran at all.

I admit; there was something in me that was viscously pleased when Aeronwen asked about him the first time. We were all in the great hall preparing for the welcoming feast my first evening here. As soon as we'd arrived I'd been whisked away, whirled about in a tour of the castle, taken to my rooms and then scrubbed within an inch of my life. It was horrible to endure but the end result was, I concede, worth the effort – the gown I was pushed into was certainly the finest I'd ever worn, though nothing like so comfortable as my old clothes. There weren't any mirrors at Caer Dallben, so I'd only seen my reflection in water buckets and such, and when I was plunked in front of a glass here in my chambers to have my hair dressed I was rather pleased to see how I looked, and dared to wonder what Taran would think of me. It's like pulling stubborn weeds to get compliments out of him, but I'd recently caught him looking at me at odd moments with an expression that seemed to say he was _thinking_ one. At least I can't think of any other reason his expression should fluster me the way it did every time.

At any rate, I didn't see him at all until he arrived in the hall to be given his new garments. I was in the middle of a conversation with several of the girls my age, Aeronwen among them, when she suddenly looked over my shoulder and interrupted, hissing "Who is _that?_" right in my ear. When I turned to see, there was Taran, standing there, looking at me with that anxious little frown on his face that means he's upset about something but doesn't want to share it. I had no time to answer before Queen Teleria jumped up and began ordering everyone about, but I escaped from the girls to go talk to him. It was a dreadful scene – he was most unsympathetic to my complaints about the place and even ordered me to stay within the grounds of Dinas Rhydnant, and I grew furious with him and ran off to my chambers in a rage. I know why, now, naturally, but at the time it hurt dreadfully and I accused him of being glad we were going to be separated. I felt terrible instantly when I saw his face, but I was too angry to do anything but cry, and had to get away.

That evening he was a bit late to the feast, late enough for me to be surrounded by Aeronwen and her tittering friends as we made our way to the table. She slid an arm through mine in a friendly fashion and seated herself with one empty seat between us, "for your brother."

"My brother?" I asked, confused.

"Isn't he? The boy you were talking to earlier," she cooed. "When you got upset and ran from the room." She paused, and her green eyes gleamed. "Will he be staying, too?"

Suddenly I detested her with all my might. "No," I said. "He's not staying, and he's not my brother. He's Taran of Caer Dallben."

She looked modestly shocked. "Caer Dallben? Isn't that where you're from? You mean to say you've been _living_ with him?" A few of the other girls, hovering about us, giggled.

"I have lived at Caer Dallben for four years," I said coolly. "It was Taran who brought me there after I helped him escape from Spiral Castle. I don't know what there is to laugh about." I glared at the gigglers, who quieted down, looking sheepish.

"Oh, well," Aeronwen said, daintily shaking out her linen, "perhaps they do things differently on farms. Tell me, what does this…Taran…do there?" She sipped at her wine, and I found myself staring at her soft white hands. Hands you could tell have never held a sword. Something in me twisted deviously.

"He's an Assistant Pig-Keeper," I said brightly, smiling as though it were the most glorious thing in the world. "You just ought to see his pig. He keeps her so wonderfully clean and well-groomed. Why, sometimes he spends hours in her pen, just polishing her trotters and curling her tail. He talks to her so sweetly, and she simply adores him. You should hear her squeal when he brings her slop bucket."

Aeronwen's eyes got bigger and bigger and her face grew quite red. I really thought she might choke on her wine. I had to shake out my own linen and pretend to be coughing so she wouldn't know how I was laughing. I had heard one of her minions murmur over how handsome Taran was while the queen had been speaking, and I guessed that for Aeronwen to find out that the object of her interest was a common pig-keeper would be humiliation enough for her. It seemed to work; she asked no more questions, and presently she moved to a different seat. When Taran did arrive, dressed in his new garments (and looking…well, terribly nice, actually) she gave both of us a disgusted, scornful look and ignored us the rest of the evening.

And now I have written until the shadow is a hand's breadth past the carpet, which means I am late for my spinning…but it has been worth it. I don't feel nearly so snarled up and grumpy now.


	5. True Confessions

Eighth day of Equos, darktime.

No need to rant and rage today, so I shall not put off writing of Taran any longer. My tirade yesterday made me miss him terribly anyway, so I may as well indulge myself.

Taran is the other person living at Caer Dallben besides those I've described, but I'd stay there even if it were only he and I. (There have been times I wished it _were_ just he and I, but never mind…) We met in the dungeons of Spiral Castle, where Achren had him prisoner and I rescued him – how fittingly those tables were recently turned – and I stayed with him on his journey to Caer Dathyl…a long story, one I won't go into now. We were only children at the time, he perhaps fourteen, I somewhat younger, although it's hard to say, as neither of us actually knows our age to the date. He's an orphan as well, but he has no idea who his parents were and envies me my knowledge of identity, I think. He's always bemoaning his lack of heritage in a way that aggravates me to no end; he seems to think it makes him less…whole, or something.

From the very first, I loved him. Strange how easy it is to write when I've never actually been able to say it to anyone, him least of all. But it's the plain truth, although I didn't really know it then. If anyone had asked I would have said he drove me mad; he was so bumbling and awkward, always saying the wrong thing, and always so touchy and concerned about his honor. Perhaps being an assistant pig-keeper will do that to you, but it did get irritating. During that first journey I wanted to slap him more times than I could count, and we were always sniping at one another. I suppose I wasn't the easiest person to be with. Living with Achren could make anyone shrewish, and I know I criticized him mercilessly. But I wanted so much to be proud of him, and all he did was blunder. It's no excuse, but it's the best I can do.

Eirliss has guessed, more or less, how I feel about him, because I talk about him constantly. She asked me once if the real reason I was so smitten with him might be simply that he was the first boy my age I had ever laid eyes on. It made me laugh. It's true enough I'd never seen anyone his age – Achren didn't go around throwing children into dungeons, except for me! – but he wasn't the least bit handsome, so it couldn't have been that. He was bruised and bloody and filthy from being captured and imprisoned, and I remember being impressed, thinking it showed he must have fought hard to escape. I can't abide a coward, and he was manifestly not one.

I had learned, after a few close calls, to stay away from the various minions of Achren who inhabited the castle, whether they were her consorts, guards, servants, or any combination thereof. She had warned all that so much as to touch me would carry a death sentence, but she paid little practical attention, and such men cannot be trusted even under threat. I fancy I escaped many traumas, death not the worst, by learning to be light, swift, and silent on my feet, and quick to hide when approached. It was fortunate that Spiral Castle was so full of hiding places. I was confidant, and likely a little proud…but I was lonely. And Taran was the first agreeable person ever to come to the castle, the first I felt I could approach without fear. Perhaps it was our combined desperation that drew me to him, even though he didn't trust me at first. I couldn't blame him for that, not in that place.

I don't know. Maybe the very brashness that so irritated me also made him fascinating to me. Or possibly it was the serious, idealistic boy under the brashness. Well, I can't explain it… I keep chasing it through my own head, but it's like trying to catch a stray breeze in a jar. I belonged with him, that's all.

That was years ago. He's changed a good deal, of course -- more capable, and less touchy about honor and glory. I think it was meeting Ellidyr that got all that nonsense out of his head, so I suppose Ellidyr was actually good for something, although I'd never have said so at the time. When I think of how he made us swear to lie about who had gotten the Crochan! Oooh, it makes my blood boil. I should be forgiving, seeing as it was Ellidyr's sacrifice that brought us out of that mess, but it was _his_ confounded pride that got us there, and dying was the first truly honorable thing he ever did. And the last. Taran was very upset with me for saying so, which almost makes me sorry, but not quite. Somehow he understood Ellidyr better than I, and was more forgiving…which is another thing that makes him irritating and wonderful at the same time. Sometimes I don't know whether I want to slap him or kiss him.

I can't even begin to describe how wonderful it was living at Caer Dallben…it would have been lovely even if Taran weren't there, of course, but it was a thousand times better because he was. Coll was so quiet, and Dallben so testy, that it would have been rather lonely with just them, but Taran and I were nearly always together, talking, laughing, arguing, working, playing. It wasn't exciting – he often longed for more adventures – but it felt…complete, somehow. Contentment might be a better word. To spend a day outdoors while Taran taught me about planting turnips or milking goats or picking apples or stacking stones for the walls; it doesn't _sound_ like much but it was the small, quiet, everyday things that made up happiness. For one thing, I had never learned how to do anything useful with Achren, so it felt lovely to be able to do something…_any_thing. And for another, I was always (rather ridiculously, I suppose) impressed by all the things he knew and could do. Of course I realize now it's what anyone who grows up on a farm knows, but at the time it all seemed like the most fascinating things in the world. I can close my eyes now and see him bent over some innocuous-looking flower, carefully turning it in strong brown hands to show me how to pull out the drop of nectar inside, the laughter in his grey-green eyes at my surprise when he popped it into his mouth, and his teasing refusal to show me again as I fumbled about with it and wound up eating some foul-tasting leaf instead. My favorite part was pelting him with pebbles until he consented to repeat the process.

Look at this. I can't even write without waxing poetic about grey-green eyes and all the silly nonsense I detest when I hear Aeronwen saying such things. I suppose love really does make you into something of a goose. But he_ is_ handsome, now…enough even for the girls here to notice. I admit to being startled when he came to the feast the first evening in Dinas Rhydnant, in the new clothing Queen Teleria had given him. His old things were so threadbare and patched, and though I'd let out the seams repeatedly it was all still too small for him. I was used to it; so when he walked in, cleaned up, with his dark hair finally brushed, and wearing what would almost have passed for royal garments – they don't skimp on fabric and embroidery here, as my sore fingers can attest – I actually took a moment to recognize him. And when I did, I suddenly found myself…feeling rather fluttery, as though I'd swallowed a mouse and it was skittering about inside. He was so tall and…and _kingly_, somehow; it occurred to me that he looked as though he _belonged_ here just as much as he had belonged to the fields and trees of Caer Dallben.

I wasn't the only one to think so; across from me I saw several of the girls staring at him and one shook her head. "A pig-keeper," she murmured, as if in disbelief. If I'd had the presence of mind I would have felt indignant, but I couldn't really think at the moment, and it was all I could do to remember that I was angry with him, which was serendipitous, as it gave me an excuse not to talk to him. Had I done so, I would've babbled like an idiot. It was bad enough to be sitting next to him all evening, and I daresay poor Rhun, to whom I _did_ talk incessantly and loudly, might have wondered what was wrong with me, if he were observant enough to notice anything.

I didn't know, then, with any sort of clarity, how Taran felt about me. He often _looked_ at me in a way that made me flush – something I detest doing – particularly in the last few days at Caer Dallben when we knew I'd be leaving soon. And a few times he seemed on the verge of saying something significant, but he would stammer and pause in a way that made me so nervous I would cut him off with some silly joke, or run off with some excuse about why I couldn't talk to him just then. I can't even explain, now, why I behaved so, or why it made me so uncomfortable. Perhaps it's simply the sensation of having my heart laid bare for anyone to see…even with someone I would trust with it, it's a difficult thing to let go of.

In any case, it seemed to take a crisis to finally make some things clear to me - to both of us, really. It was my stubbornness and heedlessness that got me into such trouble here on Mona, and it was Taran who risked life and loyalty to rescue me when I didn't really deserve it. Of course, there were good reasons for getting me away from Achren even if no one else had any use for me, but I prefer not to think of it that way!

It was Taran who brought me out of it; it was his face that I first saw, dimly, as I struggled to throw off Achren's spell. It was for him that I destroyed the book of spells that held all the secrets of my heritage, my destiny, my identity. I was afraid - yes, terrified - of what it might cost me, for I was quite certain either the spell would kill me or Achren would, once I dared to disobey. But I remembered Taran's giving up his brooch for the cauldron, remembered his willingness to sacrifice himself for us, and his honor for a greater purpose, remembered a thousand small moments of being with him at Caer Dallben, and I knew I would rather die before I let Achren take all that away, whatever I might attain in its place. And when I last looked at him before touching my bauble to the pages, I saw in his face what he had never been able to say.

He loved me.

It made me brave enough to die for him.

Fortunately for both of us, it wasn't necessary!


	6. Making a Scene

Eighth day of Equos, darktime (later)

A fine fix all my romantic ramblings got me into today! I'm afraid writing about Taran put me into a strange mood – one that was half dreamy, half melancholy, and altogether unsuitable for such mundane occupations as spinning. The whole afternoon was a disaster; I must have tangled the spindle up a dozen times, and kept breaking the thread, which of course makes the spindle fall with a clatter and everyone would look at me and shake their heads. Every time it happened I would start it up again with firm resolve to pay attention, but no sooner did the thread begin twisting than my mind would wander off again. My terrible spinning wouldn't have been unusual enough to fuss over, but it seems my expression was suspect as well. Aeronwen, who was sitting quite close, looked at me with mock concern after the fourth time or so I broke the thread, and said, "Oh, dear, Eilonwy, are you sure you're all right? You keep looking off into the distance and smiling at nothing."

I assured her I was fine, and cast about quickly for an excuse. Not quickly enough, though; she "tsked" and shook her head. "I hope so. For your sake, of course. It would be a shame for you to follow in your poor mother's footsteps."

This was a reference to my mother's "folly", as Queen Teleria calls it, some scandal hinted at darkly on occasion, usually when someone is criticizing my wild, uncouth ways. It had been driving me completely mad, for I couldn't get anyone to tell me clearly what had happened. The ladies would simply shake their heads and cluck their tongues and look horrified when I tried to pry anything out of them. All sorts of horrible possibilities began to crowd into my mind until I was quite frantic, but thank heaven for Eirliss! She noticed how harrowed up I was and after timidly asking what was the matter, explained the whole story to me a few days ago. It wasn't a horrible secret at all; in fact, she says it's quite common knowledge and a much-loved tale among most of the common folk, and was her and her sister's favorite bedtime story as children. I won't tell it all out here, as I expect it's been embellished with various details over time, but the gist of it was that my mother flouted tradition by refusing all the powerful enchanters who came to court her and, against her mother's will, ran off with my father, who was a mere traveling magician and storyteller.

It's indescribable how relieved I was! But of course I saw at once why the queen and court ladies would find it so horrid. None of them would dream of being so impulsive as to fall in love with a nameless nobody and give up all the royal prestige of their houses. I suppose it _was_ reckless of her to leave all her responsibilities, just like that. But I can't blame her. And in any case I like having a story about my parents. It makes me feel as though I know them, just a little, and can be glad they loved each other and were happy.

But back to the situation at hand. Aeronwen is always casting up the incident to me. She is firmly convinced that only a mad woman would do what my mother did, and so she's always pretending to be anxious over my own mental state.

"I appreciate your concern," I said to her, grimacing as I re-wound the spindle. "But I'm not sure it would be such a shame. If I were my mother, I'd have done the same thing she did." No use adding that what I plan to do is decidedly similar!

There was a gasp from the young women close enough to be listening. Aeronwen's eyes widened. "But, my dear, how can you say such a thing? Why, she dishonored your whole family. I don't blame her of course – they all say your father had such a way with women, it's no wonder she fell for it, too…"

She was interrupted by the exquisite sound of the flat of my hand making contact with her face. I nearly knocked her out of her seat.

Livid with rage, I stood over her, barely noticing the shrieking of the other girls. She had desperately clung to her seat cushions and managed to sit back up, and her eyes flashed white-hot hatred at me. I was too angry to speak; I couldn't even _think_ in words, but I was preparing to slap her again when my arms were grabbed from behind by several pair of hands. The older ladies had sprung into action with surprising efficiency, and at least three of them had hold of me. There was a lot of breathless indignant shouting about unseemly displays and wild tempers and what-did-I-mean-by-it, and under such an onslaught I knew I'd burst into tears any moment, and I _wouldn't_ do it in front of Aeronwen.

As a passing remark, I must say that I do so hate my tendency to cry when I'm angry. I wish I could control it. It's like being handed a spoon when what you need is a sword.

Anyway, I broke free of them after a bit of a struggle and ran out of the room and up to my bedchamber, where I barred the door and threw myself onto the bed in a passion. The usual pillow-screaming.

Of course there was a knock at the door before long, and some servant or other timidly saying that the Queen wished to see me in her own chambers, which is always a significant thing. I knew I was in for it, but I was still too angry to care. I slapped the door open and marched through the hallways to Queen Teleria's sitting room holding my head very high. The servant who was supposed to be escorting me scurried nervously in the rear and announced me at the door, then fled after the Queen bade me come in.

She looked very grave, and as usual wasted no time being indirect. I like that about her, but this time it was somewhat uncomfortable.

"I am astonished at the tale I have just received – stand up, straight, child, and look me in the eye – about your behavior in the sewing room."

She stopped as though waiting for me to say something. I was still boiling, and felt it would be wiser to be silent. She sighed.

"Don't squeeze your hands into fists that way, it's not becoming. A lady does not display her anger like a common kitchen girl. And she certainly does not lash out at other ladies – stop biting your lip, you'll give yourself a sore – like a wild animal. What did you mean by it, child?"

I didn't want to be a telltale and make excuses. But at the same time, I didn't want her to think I had simply attacked Aeronwen unprovoked. I stuck my chin out. "She insulted my parents. Implied that my father was a…a seducer, and that my mother was simply one of his victims." I felt a scowl pull at the corner of my mouth and forced it down, adding, "I was defending the honor of my family."

Queen Teleria tutted her disapproval. "Honor of your family indeed. Temper, not honor, caused that ballyhoo – don't roll your eyes, what a terrible expression. How do you know Aeronwen wasn't telling the truth?"

"It's not true," I said, quivering a bit. "I know the story. My mother left Caer Colur to wed my father and gave up her heritage and title. My father was a traveling performer, a magician, no one important. But being of low birth and a humble name…" I took a long breath, steadying my voice "didn't make him a dishonorable man. He loved her even though she had nothing once she left Llyr behind. Should she instead have wed someone who only saw her as a means to rule a kingdom?" I threw the last question at her a bit defiantly, and was immediately sorry. It was much too close a reference to my own situation.

The queen can be expressionless when she wishes but I saw her eyes flicker. She looked away from me, out the casement, thoughtful. When she spoke, she did so more slowly than is her wont.

"Eilonwy," she said, "as a princess, you will find that you often must sacrifice your own desires and pleasures for the good of others. For the good of your subjects. Don't interrupt," she said, for I had begun to protest that I hadn't any subjects. "Your mother left the kingdom of Llyr weakened, without an heir to the throne and without her share of the power that had defended it for so long. It was only a few years after her disappearance that Caer Colur fell to an invader. We on Mona depended on your family as an ally, and we lost many lives, and nearly our land, to the same attack." She looked at me sternly. "One impulsive decision – stop scowling and listen – led to destruction and many deaths."

I felt hot and then cold. Her words seemed to pound into my head and I wanted to scream that it wasn't true, it wasn't… it …it was only a thread of the truth, twisted up and turned around until it was worse than a lie would have been. I kept trying to find where it began so I could unravel it and straighten it out, but it seemed simply to loop into itself, twisting me up with it…and all its unthinkable implications. I looked down at the rushes on the floor, trying to will away the hot tears that hovered just at the edges of my eyes, and wished with all my breaking heart to be back in Caer Dallben, away from this labyrinth of secrets and obligations and sacrifices and horrible pasts that can't be changed.

Queen Teleria sighed again, "But this is all beside the point of the moment, which is that you are guilty of a shocking display. Now, Aeronwen can be difficult." I looked up at her in surprise that she would admit this, and she held up a silencing hand. "You need not tell me. I have known her longer than you. But a princess always has self-control, even when she is provoked. By this, she proves her strength. You, in your outburst, have sunk to Aeronwen's level and below it. Nothing could make her happier."

Now this was truth, and it struck me like a foaming breaker right in the face. And yet – "Must I do and say nothing, then, when the people I love are abused and insulted?" I scowled again in spite of her order. "It seems like cowardice. _I_ should call it cowardice."

The queen smiled, ignoring my scowl. "Have I said do nothing? I have only said to have self-control. Violent reactions – heavens, what did you do to your skirt? – are the domain of men and children, and those too weak or simple to know better." She tilted her head at me. "What you really ask is how to treat those you consider your enemies. I cannot tell you what to do in every situation, for – are those _sandals?_ Where on earth are your slippers? – certainly there are times when force is better than diplomacy. However, I _can_ tell you what will work in the case of Aeronwen, but it will be difficult, and it will not come naturally."

I raised an eyebrow.

"Treat her with kindness," the queen said calmly. "Be friendly, sweet, and patient with her, as you would to a small child who is only just learning good behavior. Ignore her insults. Be above them. She is jealous of you for many good reasons – remember to wash under your fingernails when you bathe tonight – and you must not throw those reasons away by behaving as badly as she does. By being kind to her you will drive her quite mad, and in the end she will either adore you or leave you grudgingly alone – I predict the latter. Adoring anyone is not in Aeronwen's nature."

It all sounded so subversive, not to mention impossible. My doubt must have shown on my face, for Queen Teleria suddenly laughed merrily. "Child, your expressions are so easily read. You believe I am simply trying to ensure peace in the house by setting you an unattainable goal. Trust me. Never fight an enemy with his own weapons, for he already knows how to defend himself from them. Malice, intrigue, spite, and gossip – those are Aeronwen's arsenal, and you will not beat her using them."

It seemed to make sense, and yet not. I had no time for musing about it at the moment, for she dismissed me, saying that as punishment for my outburst I would spend the rest of the day in my chamber, including supper.

What a punishment! I should make a scene every day!

It gives me more time for writing, at any rate, and is, of course, why I've been able to do so for the past hour.

I find myself grudgingly thinking over what she said. Not about Aeronwen, as the thought of being kind to her is so distasteful, but about my mother and what she did. They really seem to think that the downfall of Llyr was her fault – that if she hadn't run off with Father none of it would have happened. Could it be true?

I can't believe it. I won't. If Eirliss's version of the story is true, the enchanters who courted mother would have ruined Caer Colur anyway if she'd chosen any of them. Odious, pompous, power-hungry men. Who knows what Llyr would be now if one of them was on the throne? And it isn't Mother's fault that she had to run away to be with Father. I'm sure he would have been happy to stay if it had been allowed. So really Queen Regat had herself to blame for forbidding their marriage and driving them away. Her insistence on tradition brought death and destruction.

Or maybe Queen Teleria is right and I'm just making excuses. Why do things have to be so complicated as you grow up? I liked it better when I knew which side of the argument to be on.

All that about sacrificing one's own desires for the good of the people makes me wonder how much she has guessed about my own plans for the future. Well, it isn't the same at all. Mona is not my kingdom and it already has an heir, who can easily find someone else suitable for producing the next one. One princess ought to be as good as any other, and I should think they'd want one with more sense and responsibility than I seem to be able to cultivate.

Here comes Eirliss with my supper. I do wish I could eat and write at the same time.


	7. Embroidering a Memory

Ninth day of Equos, darktime

I had the oddest dream last night.

It was hair-washing night, which never fails to make me grumpy, especially coming at the end of such a tumultuous day. There is nothing so horrible as going to bed with your hair damp and clammy. There's nowhere to put it where you don't feel it sticking to your neck or dripping all over the pillow. I wouldn't mind the baths so much – it _is_ rather nice to soak in hot water, actually – but oh, the hair. It's like wrapping your head with cold fish.

Well, after the ruckus yesterday, I suppose I should have expected to go to bed snarly and prone to nightmares. In the dream, I was spinning in the sewing room, which would have made it enough of a nightmare, and in came Rhun. Of course, in dreams, things that never happen in reality somehow slide past you with perfect ease, so Rhun in the sewing room didn't perplex me. He said several things that, now that I think of them, made no sense – something about having to drain the wool, and such – and then suddenly he wasn't Rhun, and instead it was Aeronwen standing there, glaring at me. All my anger with her came back, and I swung the thread I was spinning and threw the spindle at her. The thread wrapped around her neck and broke, and then she disappeared and it was just the spindle getting bigger and bigger until it was rolling after me and I was running through the castle trying to get away from it. Somehow Achren was there too and I knew, the way you always inexplicably know things in dreams, that she was behind the whole thing. I kept getting lost as I ran through the castle, turning corners and down halls that never seemed to end, and then finally I came to a casement very high up. When I looked out, there was Caer Dallben, so far below it made me dizzy to look at it. Behind me I could hear the spindle rumbling down the hall, and I reached to climb onto the casement to jump…but I couldn't reach the edge; somehow it kept getting higher and higher, and I was jumping for it and kicking at the wall – and I woke up, with my legs all tangled up in the bedclothes.

My dreams never make sense. Whoever heard of being run down by a giant spindle? And I do hate sleeping with so many coverings to get tangled up in, all because it's so miserably cold and damp in a castle. No matter how hot Eirliss stokes the fire before leaving, by morning I can see the moisture beading on the walls. The only thing that saves me from suffocating is leaving my curtains open, although the queen has told me numerous times that I'm sure to catch my death. And this bed! It's so high I need a stool to climb into it, and it's simply enormous. I believe five people could sleep in it and never disturb each other; what a terrible waste of goose feathers. I feel like I'm drowning in it. Perhaps it is so large in order to accommodate the endless pile of silly fancy cushions I must throw off every night in order to get in – which explains the existence (although not the purpose) of the cushions always being embroidered in the sewing room! _Now_ I'm beginning to catch on. Still, if this is where one person is supposed to sleep, I hate to think where they put couples. Marriage beds must be the size of ships!

I so miss my little loft over the main room at Caer Dallben. The house was such a rambling thing, with rooms stuck out every-which-way as they were added on, and I could have had one of them once it was cleaned up, but after my first night in the loft I didn't want any other room. Coll strung a curtain for me across the length of it, and it was so nice and cozy and sweet-smelling with all the straw piled up in the corner and the window looking out over the yard and into the orchard. The rafters made such lovely nooks and crannies for hiding and hanging things, and there was always a cat or two willing to curl up at my toes while I slept. My straw pallet never made me sneeze (the goose feathers do), and it was as warm and dry and comfortable as you could possibly want.

To be sure, there _was_ the occasional bat that flew in through the open window! But what is a cat for?

My favorite nights were the stormy ones. Listening to the rain pouring down outside my window, blowing in the fresh, cool, damp air; watching the whole world outside light up in sharp silver and blue-black with every lightning bolt; feeling the house shake when the thunder cracked – I loved it. There is something so wild and beautiful about a storm, even when it becomes powerful enough to frighten you. I've even thought I wouldn't mind being killed in one, just so long as I could be out in the thick of it for a few breathtaking moments.

Sometimes in the mornings I would awaken early and peer out of the window, and now and then there would be a deer or two grazing in the orchard – particularly when the apples were falling. It always reminded me of Medwyn's valley, and I would wonder if any of them were the fawn I saw there. Not likely, but it was pleasant to consider.

In the winter I would push my pallet to the corner by the chimney where it was warm. I can't describe how comfortable it was to lie there, with a cat on my lap, listening to Coll and Taran puttering about below, their low and familiar voices weaving a warm tapestry, studded occasionally with Dallben's raspy, sarcastic comments.

Oh dear. I'm making myself homesick. I'd better move on to other topics.

Today was dull but tolerable. I could feel everyone staring at me when I went into the sewing room, and several of the girls put their heads together and whispered. Not that there is anything so unusual about that, but I knew this time they were whispering about the scene yesterday, and the fact that I hadn't been seen all evening. I was determined to be calm and self-assured, however, and pretended not to notice.

Aeronwen wasn't there – thus the tolerable-ness! I heard one of the girls say she was confined to her bed until her face stopped swelling, and had a difficult time repressing a grin. I confess I am not eager to put the queen's advice into practice, and still doubt its soundness. Anyway, I'm sure the "swollen face" is simply a bid for attention. I didn't hit her hard enough for that!

I had finally finished with my first true bit of embroidery, some silly flower-and-bird design which came out terribly, and Queen Teleria had told me I might create my own, next time, if it would help me take more of an interest in the process. Soon there will be enough wool and flax spun and dyed for weaving to begin, something to which I do not look forward; so meanwhile, if I must be there anyway, I thought I might as well take her advice.

I mulled it over for a while, and decided the only topic that really interested me that much was going back to Caer Dallben, but the idea of doing the whole place was a bit daunting. Some of the ladies do lovely tapestries with whole countries laid out upon them, but with my limited abilities I believe I ought to stick with something simpler. I thought back on what I had written here, and remembered the bit about Hen Wen being the one I had to thank for bringing me to Caer Dallben at all. A pig seemed a simple enough thing – it wouldn't require so many different colors – and if it came out well I could give it to Taran when I see him again. At any rate while I was working on it at least I'd be thinking of something pleasant!

So I chose a big swath of fabric from the scrap pile, a nice woolen remnant, from someone's cloak no doubt; green, for the fields of Caer Dallben, and the trees in the orchard, and Coll's old patched jacket, and Taran's eyes. And it ought to make a white pig stand out brilliantly against it.

Trying to sketch out the picture was horrible, though. A couple of the older women – Heledd and Gwen, I think – are quite good at drawing, and usually everyone goes to them to have their designs done. But Gwen wasn't there today, and Heledd doesn't seem to like me much; and anyway she is so pinched and prim that I didn't want even to imagine her face if I asked her to draw me a pig. So I took some chalk and tried to do it myself. All morning!

It still looks dreadful. Like a log with four sticks stabbing it through the bottom. And I've rubbed it out and re-done it so many times now, I'm not sure I'll ever be able to wash out all the marks, and I'm beginning to despair of the whole idea. I was hoping to work on it after the rest hours – anything not to be spinning again for a while! But I don't see how I'll ever begin. It's stretched out next to me this very moment on this ridiculous bed, and I'm already hating the very sight of it. Why must I be forced to learn all these useless pastimes? The only thing keeping me from ripping it to pieces now is because I'd already begun to think of it as a gift for Taran. And now, for some strange reason, that's making me annoyed with him, too! As if he'd asked for it. Botheration!

I must throw a few things before my time alone is up.

* * *

Author Response:

Wow, I...actually got some reviews. Thanks, everyone, for the warm welcome. I didn't really expect much, so it is a nice surprise.

To address a few points that were brought up: Yes, if this fic has a plot at all, it's Eilonwy's maturing-process. I just hesitate to call that a plot, as I don't know how long I'll draw it out, or how interesting that really is. I guess time will tell. I'm just writing things as I think of them, with no real direction about where it's going to go. So if it seems rambly and disconnected, it is. But _my_ journal is that way, so it might be safe to assume that Eilonwy's would be, as well.

I'm aware of the Prydain connection to Welsh mythology (there are few Prydain facts I am _un_aware of, frankly, and I say that not out of arrogance but asa confession of my borderline psychotic obsession with it) and that is why I'm using my "Welsh Names for Children" book to come up with other character names. According to it, the "wen" you see so often tacked on to girls' names comes from "gwen" meaning "white". I don't speak Welsh, so I'm taking this at face value. Anyway, I have no particular reason for picking one name over another, so no offense to the names themselves if they belong to an unlikeable character.

Not that anyone has asked this, but I picture Aeronwen as looking something like Kiera Knightley. The Teeth.

I should also clarify that I am using the celtic calendar, at least to thebest of my bumbling interpretation. They began every 28-day month with the full moon, so "darktime" is the first half of the month, when the moon is waning (getting smaller). If anyone more with more knowlege of how this works sees an error, I would welcome correction, 'cause I'm kinda winging it here.

And because I am obsessive, I must point out and apologize for my own mistake of mispelling both Regat and Caer Colur. Ishall now go beat myself with a letter stick as penance.


	8. New Friend

Twelfth day of Equos, darktime

Missed a few days. I suppose it's unreasonable to expect to want to write every day. The truth is, I've been using up all my "rest" time trying to sketch that blasted pig. I've never been so frustrated in my life!

Fortunately fate intervened today in the form of a new girl in the embroidery room. I had contemplated feigning illness to get out of it today; it's been so tiresome. I thought nothing could be worse than embroidery, but trying vainly to prepare for itis awfully close.Anyway, I thought better of the ruse, as there is a jaunt to the seaside planned for this afternoon and I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to leave the castle grounds on any excuse.

When I entered the room, I noticed a girl sitting in my usual corner, next to the casement, a little apart from Aeronwen and her court, and realized she wasn't someone I'd seen before. I'm sure I'd remember seeing someone with such a head of hair! It was red as fire, and wildly unruly in spite of several clasps attempting to control it. She was sewing rather than embroidering, sewing something oddly-shaped and brightly-colored, and I realized as I came closer that it was some sort of mask. I was a few steps away from her when she looked up at me…and grinned.

It was such a real, saucy, delightful grin – so different from the false, tight smiles I see on most of the girls – that I grinned back before I even thought. For reply, she picked up the mask and held it to her face, showing me a pair of merry hazel eyes twinkling through the grotesque thing. "What do you think?" she asked, her voice muffled behind the silk.

"It's hideous," I said flatly. It was. It had a horrid long nose and strange peaked eyebrows, with tufts of feathers poking out above them. The mouth was wide and leering. She laughed a great rolling laugh that made several of the ladies turn their heads to stare their disapproval.

"Good," she said, taking it down and jabbing at it with her needle. "I mean for it to be. It's for my brother's use at the Autumn festival, but before I give it to him I'm going to give him a good scare with it."

All at once I found myself liking her. I sat down on a stool nearby. "How did you convince Queen Teleria to let you do _that_?" I asked in envy. How delightful to make a mask instead of this dull embroidery! Not that I'd be any good at that either, I suppose.

She looked at me in surprise. "What do you mean?"

I shook out the green cloth and stared at it despairingly. "I'm not allowed to do anything but embroidery."

She gave the mass of chalk lines an appraising glance. "Erm…there's nothing there."

"Of course there isn't," I hissed. "Haven't I been trying for three days to draw a pig! A _pig_; you wouldn't think it would be so difficult, would you? But no. It's too bad I'm _not_ trying to do barrels and sticks, because I'd have drawn a million of them by now. Maybe I _should_ set out to draw a barrel on sticks, and _then_ it would come out looking like a pig!" I don't know why I suddenly was spilling all this to her. Perhaps because I haven't been spilling it here the last two days!

She took the cloth from me and said thoughtfully, "You almost have it, you know. Here…do you have any chalk?" I handed her mine and watched. Incredible. A few strokes and…there it was. "Is this how you want it?"

I was breathless. "Could you make her a bit…rounder? And the tail longer." She scribbled a bit more and handed it back to me. "Perfect!" I whispered, gazing in wonder. "Thank you."

She laughed. "You should see your face! It's not magic, you know. You could do it if someone just taught you how."

I scowled as I rummaged through the thread-bag. "I've had enough of learning how to do things. If I try to add anything else to the front of my head, something's sure to fall out the back."

She grinned again and poked at her mask. "You're Eilonwy," she said suddenly, "aren't you."

At my surprise, she shrugged. "I heard you were coming before I left," she said. "I've been staying with my family on the mainland because my sister was ill. I know all the other girls here," she continued with obvious distaste, "so I guessed who you must be."

"No doubt you've heard plenty already," I said, frowning at my needle.

"Some," she said vaguely, "but I don't make a habit of believing certain people." When I looked at her she grinned again, a lopsided flash of slightly crooked teeth. "I'm Maelona. Of the house of Mona. Second cousin to the king."

"Maelona of Mona?" I blurted…rudely, I suppose, but she smirked.

"Awful, isn't it? I've wished all kinds of bad luck on my parents for that. But I go by Mae, so I get by."

We continued to chat throughout the morning, which made it go by ever so much faster. I forgot all about Aeronwen and her girls sniping away in their corner, and even the embroidery seemed to go smoother – she helped me out several times with some of the more complicated stitches, and never said a word to make me believe she thought a pig was a strange choice of subject. Shekept sayingthe most outrageous things in a perfectly normal tone of voice, and set me laughing often. It's hard to believe she's at all related to the royal family.

It's a strange feeling – friendliness toward another girl. I never had any girls as friends before, except perhaps Eirliss, but she's so timid and quiet normally; intimidated, I expect. I don't think Mae suffers from that sort of problem.

Well, at any rate, we're going to ride together on this afternoon's outing. It'll be pleasant to have someone to talk to besides Rhun, who has become somewhat repetitive. Yesterday he told me for what must be the ninth time that he's to begin his tour of Mona in a few days. It's charming to see him so excited – he wanted to begin as soon as we all got back to Dinas Rhydnant, and it took some doing for his parents to convince him that a prince couldn't just go packing off, willy-nilly, to traipse through the countryside without provisions or plans. Of course once _they_ got hold of the idea they got so stuck in planning and provision that it didn't seem the actual journey was ever going to happen, but it seems all the details have finally been settled and he's to set off, with a retinue of twenty guard, on the fifteenth. I do envy him the freedom, but I think he'd have had more fun with less planning! Mona isn't very big, to be sure, and I don't suppose he'll encounter anything terribly exciting, but still – at least he'll be away from Dinas Rhydnant. I'll miss our evening strolls upon the battlements, though. Whatever else Rhun may be, he never fails to be amusing, whether he does it on purpose or not!

Oh, yes, I forgot to mention – last night I finally met the infamous Lord Trefor Aeronwen's been raving about for days – he and his father are still here, and from some glances that passed between the king and queen I gather their welcome is wearing thin. I'm not sure what all the fuss is about – he's handsome enough, I suppose, if you like dark, moody types with eyebrows like great spiky caterpillars – but insufferably arrogant. There was a banquet and I had to sit next to the odious creature, an experience made tolerable only for the sake of the murderous looks Aeronwen kept sending me from two seats down. I should thank her, really – it was for her sake that I behaved myself and pretended to be delighted with his conversation, rather than following my natural inclination, which would only have ended in a scene and another lecture from the queen. I amused myself by imagining him being gagged by his own table linen, and it made smiling at him much easier. He talked mostly of his home and kept dropping subtle hints about how much finer their house and grounds were than Dinas Rhydnant, and then told me all about his own (naturally) heroic role in some recent small border skirmish. You'd think he'd taken on an army of dragons single-handedly from the way he told it.

I tried to put on an expression of impressed awe suitable for a cosseted young princess, but I'm afraid I mustn't have mastered it, because his manner became aloof as he finished the tale. "It was nothing, of course, couldn't even call it a battle, really. But a lady such as yourself doubtless takes no interest in these matters."

"Oh, no, I can't bear such violent tales," I said, and couldn't resist adding on. "I still have nightmares about being attacked by the Huntsmen of Annuvin on the quest for Arawn's cauldron. Lord Gwydion said it was perfectly understandable to miss two shots out of six, especially with the horse bolting in the midst of a thicket, but I still can't think of it for shame…" I buried my face in my linen, giggling at the look on his face at the dropping of Gwydion's name – he looked like he'd swallowed a quail's-egg whole.

Arrogant boor. How I should have liked to clout him. At any rate he stopped bothering me after that; a moment later I heard him telling the same stories to a girl on his other side, which was a mercy for it took all my concentration to struggle with the mussels on my plate. I must say there simply isn't a delicate way to eat them, no matter what the queen insists. She finds my lack of appetite for shellfish quite shocking, considering my ancestry – but I can't help it I grew up so far from the sea where I belonged.

Speaking of the sea, I must get ready for today's outing. If I wait for Eirliss to come in she'll fuss about my braiding my own hair!


	9. Seaside Ramble

Thirteenth day of Equos, darktime

How things change when one has a sympathetic companion! I shouldn't be surprised by it, considering how my life changed once before when Taran showed up in it, but it really is amazing the difference it makes.

As planned, Mae and I rode side-by-side on yesterday's excursion. The seaward-route is a bustling strip of road that winds its way southward to Mona Haven, and affords little in the way of sightseeing, beyond greeting the various merchants and emissaries that stream constantly from the harbor and back. That, and the fact that going there reminds me painfully of saying goodbye to Taran and Gurgi when we saw them off there over a fortnight ago, has made it one trip I am reluctant about taking. The last picnic, I was moody and bored during the whole ride – of course it didn't help that I was nearly slipping off the horse the entire time, and was concentrating too hard on gripping the saddle to pay much attention to anything else.

Not so this time around. For one thing, Mae showed me the trick to riding sidesaddle, which is to lean back a bit to balance the weight of your legs. But more importantly, she kept asking me questions until I forgot about the riding entirely. I told her all about Caer Dallben, and coming to Mona, and Achren, the whole story of my kidnapping and rescue, and even a bit of the quest for the Crochan two years ago. She was eagerly interested, and never seemed disapproving over my adventures. In fact, at one point she said rather wistfully that I'd "had the luck" to have had so many. I'm don't know that I'd call it lucky being kidnapped and cast nasty spells upon, but I suppose it does make for a good story.

What with chattering on about all that, we were at the harbor before I knew it. The pavilions were already up, their bright banners snapping in the wind. Why is it always windy at sea? I like it, but it does such terrible things to my hair. Even when it's braided, there are always bits that come out and get twisted up and tangled, or simply stick straight out from my face like spider's legs. Mae laughed when I complained, and said that was one good thing about her hair – it looked the same no matter what.

It was the usual sort of outing, in which after the feasting the men all run about playing games, sparring, and showing off. Ladies have two choices. If one is married, one sits in the shade and complains of the heat, and usually brings needlework along. If one isn't married, one sits near the edge of the canopy and cheers on the lads at their games.

Of course I'm expected to take part in the latter, and I normally don't like it at all, for it's indescribably annoying having to watch fun that you can't join. I usually sit off to the side, in hopes that I'll be able to slip away in an unwatched moment and have a good romp down the beach on my own, but so far the opportunity has never presented itself. Yesterday, however, Mae wanted to watch the games, so I sat with her, supposing I owed her that much for making the ride out so painless. And thus it was that I got another surprise – it really _was_ entertaining to watch them.

I'm not sure I was entertained in the same sense everyone else was, though. There was much gasping and clapping and oooh-ing from the girls when anyone got a particularly good stroke in or made a daring move, and I admit it was interesting (although Taran could have beaten any of them). My amusement stemmed largely from watching Rhun, whose clumsiness is only matched by his good nature. He's such an oaf, it's tempting to feel sorry for him, but his earnestness is admirable. It actually made me rather angry when I heard one of the girls making a nasty remark about him and tittering over it – they wouldn't dare say such things within the queen's hearing – and to make up for it Mae and I clapped very hard over every little thing he managed to get right. He noticed it and went quite pink all the way to his ears.

After the boys had worn themselves out, everyone settled down in the pavilion to nap or talk quietly, and a few people paired off to stroll along the water's edge. I noticed Rhun heading my way and suddenly realized that our zealous encouragement might have been a bit much. He had a look in his eye…anyway, I didn't fancy being alone with him just then, so I jumped up. "Want to take a walk, Mae?"

She got up, but then hesitated, glancing back at Rhun. I didn't intend to leave him out – only to have someone else there, too. He trotted up, giving his customary greeting, then turned to Mae, "Hullo, cousin! I didn't know you'd come back." He embraced her quickly, kissing her on the cheek…and…and I may have been imagining it, but she actually seemed to blush momentarily. He spent a few moments asking about her family. Finally I broke in. "We're just about to go walking, Rhun; would you like to join us?"

"Oh, grand!" he said, beaming, and offered us each an arm.

We walked for the better part of an hour, and it was so pleasant. Once we got out of sight of the pavilions, I sat down on a rock and took my slippers off, for I can't bear the feel of sand in my slippers; I'd rather go barefoot. Mae followed suit, while Rhun clucked anxiously over what his mother would say.

"We'll put them back on coming back," I told him. "She'll never know...as long as you don't say anything." He looked worried, and Mae giggled. I fully expect he'll blurt it out in some unguarded moment, but I'll handle that when the time comes. I would dearly have loved to wade, but I didn't want to discomfit him further by kilting up my skirts.

So, we all just walked, or rather Mae and I walked, for Rhun kept darting about, running ahead to investigate interesting bits of driftwood, running back to us to show us shells or pebbles he'd found. We kept taking things from him until we both had our hands full. Mae held up a smooth flat disc of iridescent abalone shell, letting the sunshine sparkle through it. "Beautiful, isn't it? It seems like you could make jewelry with such things."

"You can," I said, remembering suddenly. "There were many things in Caer Colur decorated with them, and jewelry, too. Achren showed it to me." I was quiet for a while, thinking. It's so hazy remembering what happened when I was in Caer Colur; I have trouble deciding which parts were real and which were Achren's deceptions. I'm sure the visions of the castle as it had been were true, though.

I must have been silent for too long, for Mae broke in softly. "Is it very hard for you to think about it?"

I shook my head, feeling like I was shaking off cobwebs. "I…some of it. It was a strange feeling, to sense that I belonged to a place I'd never seen. And then to watch it crumble…it was like finding treasure, and then forgetting where you buried it."

She squeezed my hand sympathetically. "Would you rather never have found it at all?"

"No," I said, startling myself with my own vehemence. "I'm glad I had it for a while. I'm even glad I had to make the choice whether to keep it. Because…" I hesitated; it's so hard to explain. "Because if I hadn't had to choose, I wouldn't know which was more important – what _could_ be, or what actually _is_." I sighed. "Does that make sense?"

"No," she replied, chuckling, "But I daresay _you_ know what you mean."

I laughed ruefully, for of course I really don't. At least, I haven't been able to put it into words, even to myself, and trying to think about it too hard brings back memories that give me nightmares. I ought to write it all out here; perhaps it would help to get it out of my head.

Rhun came running up at that point, carrying a great smelly armful of kelp. We decided that was a good time to turn back. Collecting shells is one thing, but I wasn't about to haul around a load of seaweed. He thought it might be the kind the herbalists use, so he was determined to bring it back, although it distressed him that we couldn't take his arms. We assured him we didn't mind, and Mae added, in a deadpan sort of way, that we were happy to sacrifice for the greater good. I had to pretend to have a sneezing fit to mask my laughter.

All in all, it was a pleasant trip, but I'm determined to somehow get out of the castle grounds and go for a swim. I can't bear being so close to the sea and not being able to get in it. I shall have to go at night, but it's full moon in a fortnight; surely I can find a way out while the light is good. I wonder if I can convince Mae to go, too.

Rest hours are up! Back to my white pig…


	10. Unraveling Memories

Fourteenth day of Equos, darktime

We began weaving today. Ugh.

The weaving rooms are in the west wing, presumably so that weaving can go on as long as there is light. The chamber is a forest, a _labyrinth_ of looms, with huge hanks of dyed, spun wool and flax hanging from the ceiling like stalactites, and the air is full of tiny floating fibers that glitter in the shafts of light from the casements. It hums with the clickety-clack of flying shuttles over the steady murmur of voices, although generally there is less chatter than in the sewing room. Perhaps weaving requires greater concentration, or maybe it's the general atmosphere of serious business going on. It seems Mona does most of its trading with textiles, which explains the proliferation of sheep on the island, and everyone is expected to be involved with the process. I even saw Elinor and Dwysan, two of the little girls from my deportment lessons, sitting at small looms, their tiny nimble hands flying like white birds over the threads.

I spent the morning watching Queen Teleria at the loom while she explained patiently what she was doing. It _was_ rather fascinating to watch, but I couldn't make any sense of it. Her hands moved so quickly I couldn't follow at all; the shuttle seemed to dart back and forth of its own accord, and I still don't understand what the treadles at the bottom are for. I shudder at the thought of sitting down to it, and honestly I don't know if they can afford to let me try – surely I'll do no more than slow down the process, and likely ruin whole skeins of thread into the bargain. When I said as much, the queen tutted, and said I was clever enough to learn, if I didn't start out by complaining and dreading it. She pointed out the little girls, and said if they could do it so could I; I didn't feel it was wise to point out that they can also curtsy without tripping over their own feet, which I have yet to manage.

The only nice thing is that it gets me away from embroidery for a while, and although my white pig is coming on passably well, I shall be glad to lay down the needle and thread. Yesterday afternoon I had to pick out half of what I'd done that morning after realizing I'd been stitching in the wrong spot for an hour. I'd been quite distracted talking to Mae, who was telling me about her brother and sisters back home, and never noticed I'd been stitching an eye where a hoof should have been until it was almost done. I wanted to be furious but it looked so funny that I had to smile, and Mae made a comment about blue hooves that had us both giggling until Queen Teleria gave us the _look_.

She has finished with the mask for her twelve-year-old brother Talen, who sounds like quite a delightful scamp, and I'm trying to help her plot out how to scare him with it before she has to give it to him for the autumn festival, which is held here on Mona. It gives us plenty of time to think up something good, and there's no doubt that the thing could be grotesquely frightening under the right circumstances. It looks like something from the deepest pits of Eiddileg's realm.

This morning during my pre-breakfast ramble I think I discovered a way out of the grounds. I've never been much interested in exploring the gardens to their limits, or I'd have found it before, but since making my vow yesterday to find a way to the sea, I decided I ought to be looking a bit harder. Today I discovered that if you follow the herb gardens all the way to the back wall, there's a gate where they throw the garden rubbish out. It's half-hidden behind clumps of some feathery bushy thing, so it's no wonder I never noticed it, but that means it should also be easier to get to without anyone seeing. It may be locked, but it is worth a try; I think I'll attempt it tomorrow night if the weather is fine.

At the moment there's the most glorious storm going on over the water, and I'm sitting at my window and watching the lightning. I vaguely remember a legend of Llyr that dolphins were born when lightning first struck the sea, and that is why they leap so high, trying to return to the air from which they came. It's a lovely idea. We saw a few of them on the journey over from Caer Dallben – delightful creatures, soaring effortlessly in and out of the water. I remember Taran laughing out loud over their antics, and Gurgi nearly leapt overboard in his excitement at seeing them, squealing about the "shining great fishies," their "splashings and flashings", and their "friendly wide smilings."

I used to wonder how I could remember such legends, when I had no memory of actually living near the sea, or being taught anything about Llyr at all. On our journey to Caer Dathyl, after Flewddur played for us the first time, I had mentioned feeling at home near the sea, and how the white-capped waves were called the "White Horses of Llyr" by my people, and later one summer evening at Caer Dallben, Taran asked me how I knew that, if I couldn't remember anything of my life before Achren. I still remember the conversation, because it was the first time I realized how strange that was.

We were sitting out in front of the house on stumps, leaning up against the cool stone fence that surrounded the orchard, shelling peas. It was late afternoon, the time of day when the shadows grow long and the light turns greeny-gold, and there was a beautiful breeze dancing up from the spring, bringing the damp smell of moss and leaf-mould. Gurgi was sitting in the grass at our feet, eating peapods and occasionally trying to sneak shelled peas out of the pot.

I was humming snatches of an old song that I seem always to have known, about the swans and gulls leading the sea-folk and King Llyr to land, and when Taran asked where I'd learned it, I couldn't tell him.

"That's what's odd," he said, pointing a peapod at me. "You know stories and songs about Llyr, like that bit about the white horses you talked about that night after Medwyn's valley. But you say Achren wouldn't talk about Llyr to you. How do you know them?"

I shrugged, frowning, for I didn't like thinking about Achren. "I just do. I must have learned them before I lived at Spiral Castle."

"But you've said you don't remember anything before coming to Spiral Castle," he persisted. "Not even anything about how you came to be there. I don't doubt Achren was lying to you about it; you never truly believed she was your aunt. And if she were the only sort of parent you'd ever known, you'd have turned out just like her, not knowing any better."

I scowled at a shriveled pod and tossed it to Gurgi. It was true. I couldn't remember anything at all before coming to Spiral Castle; Achren had always told me that my family had sent me there after my parents' death, to learn magic from her. I had wondered often why they had sent me to _her_ when it was so manifestly obvious that she was as black-hearted as a rotten oak…and then wondered how I knew even _that_, when I had no memory of anyone to compare her to. When I tried to think back too far, more than six or seven years, it just went blank, as though someone had drawn a misty curtain through my mind. Songs and stories, and a few hazy images, slipped through thin places in it, and in the very center of it blazed my own name_. I am Eilonwy, daughter of Angharad, daughter of Regat…of the House of Llyr._ But nothing more. Trying to reach beyond the curtain was useless, bringing nothing but an inexplicable sense of dread.

I came to myself staring blankly at Taran's face, or rather through it, for he was waving a hand in front of my eyes and glaring at me quizzically. I blinked, and looked away, muttering, "Sorry."

"You looked like you were seeing ghosts."

"Perhaps I was," I said. "I don't know. I don't know how I know some things. And I don't like to think about it. It makes me feel odd…like I'm trying to walk a cliff's-edge in the dark."

"Do you think-," he began, then stopped.

"What?" I said after a moment, annoyed.

"Nothing. You said you didn't like thinking about it." He crushed a pea-pod into the stone fence.

"But now I _will_, until I know what you were going to ask," I said in exasperation, kicking the pot accidentally and knocking out several peas, which Gurgi wasted no time cleaning up. "So you might as well do it. I hate when you don't finish what you start out to say. It's worse than spilling a drink halfway to your mouth."

He grinned briefly, a flash of white in the gathering twilight (the odd things I remember!), before looking at me seriously. "Do you think Achren bewitched you somehow, to make you forget?"

It was an idea that had occurred to me, but I had always pushed it away, not even putting it into words, not wanting to think about what it meant. Because if it were true, then there _was_ something behind that misty curtain in my mind, something that she had desperately _needed_ me to forget, something that filled me with such nameless horror when I tried to see it that I shrank away from trying. Not that I could have put even this much into words back then. Instead I got angry with Taran for prying into such a dangerous place, and, true to form, burst into sudden furious tears.

He was understandably bewildered. When he asked tentatively what was wrong, I screeched that I didn't know and to leave me alone and stop asking a lot of stupid questions. Gurgi was staring at me with his mouth open, and I sprang up, scattering my unshelled peas in all directions, and ran off to the orchard to get control of myself.

I suppose it was worth going through all that horror with Achren at Caer Colur to have an answer to all those questions. It wasn't nice having that curtain finally lifted, but it's as I told Mae yesterday…I'm glad to have found what was lost, even if only to lose it again.

How much of who we are is made up of what we've lost? That's a Dallben sort of question, and one I'll have to ask him when I get back.


	11. What Really Happened

Fifteenth day of Equos, lighttime

New moon tonight. I'm going to sneak out and try that garden gate while it's nice and dark, to make it harder to be caught.

I haven't asked Mae yet to join me. If it turns out to be locked, which it almost certainly will, I wouldn't want to waste her time, and if it doesn't, there'll be other nights. Besides, one is less easily caught than two.

I do struggle with some small pangs of guilt over this plan, considering all that went wrong last time I left the castle illicitly. But this time it'll be under my own power, and there's no one waiting about with subversive kidnapping plots.

I still wonder how I could have been stupid enough to go with Magg when he came to me that morning. He bore every sign of a man who was up to something nefarious – not that he didn't _always_ seem to have shifty eyes and quaking hands; the nervous type. But I'd just had a run-in with Taran, who had apparently slept on the floor outside my door to make sure I didn't get out, which made me so mad I wasn't thinking clearly. I knew he was keeping something from me, and when Magg loomed up, babbling about something serious happening and how I must come with him at once, I thought it might be my only chance to find out what was going on. I actually remember feeling defiantly pleased, as though I were getting the better of Taran by it! Llyr, what an idiot I was.

I realized it the moment we were out of sight of the castle gates. Magg had turned into the hills, where we were quickly swallowed up, and then reigned up near an outcropping, saying that he thought his horse had thrown a shoe. I dismounted to help him with it, and the moment my feet touched the ground he had grabbed me from behind before I could think.

Ugh. I can still feel his stinking breath on my neck. He was surprisingly strong for such a thin, wiry man, and those spidery hands of his were like vices on my arms. I threw myself backwards and got him off balance, and he fell back, cursing, but he kept a grip on one of my wrists, and twisted it fearfully as he fell, pulling me down with him. I was screaming like a banshee, and when I hit the ground my free hand found a rock. I swung it at his face, but he was already up, and caught my wrist, dodging the blow and pulling me back to my feet. But I was facing him then, and got in some good kicks, mostly to his shins. If it weren't for all those blasted skirts I could have aimed higher and ended the whole business, but the encumbrance put me at a disadvantage.

Oh, his face! I still see it in nightmares, leering at me. He seemed to be taking vicious pleasure in the struggle. It made me so mad I left off screaming for help and began to rail and rage at him, calling him all manner of nasty names. It wasn't wise, for it made him angry, and his anger made him stronger. In a moment, he had caught both my hands and twisted them behind my back and up, and got my head in the crook of his arm, squeezing until I could barely breathe. His whisper was harsh and ragged in my ear.

"You keep a civil tongue in your head, my beauty," he rasped. "You're lucky I'm sworn not to touch you yet." He gave my hands a harsh yank upward, but the pain from that wasn't so bad as the cold fear that prickled down my scalp. "All in good time. She's promised me a kingdom _and_ a queen. I'll teach you proper respect in due course."

"They'll look for me," I choked out, squirming as much as I could to avoid the feel of his breath against my face. "You just wait. You'll regret you ever laid eyes on me."

"Oh, no doubt," he purred. It was an empty threat, of course. By the time anyone at the castle knew I was gone, he could have done anything he wanted, and he knew it. I didn't know who the "she" was at that point, or I could have planted some real doubts in his mind about Achren's promises. Although, come to think of it, perhaps it's just as well. He might have decided his oath wasn't worth keeping.

He had to wrestle me to the ground to get the rope round my wrists, and I fought as hard as I could, but he got a hand to my throat, and things went blurry for a while. When I could think again, my arms were firmly bound behind my back, my feet were tied together, and he was knotting a scarf around my mouth. I noted with some satisfaction that he had a bloody scratch down his swelling cheek, and an eye slowly turning purple.

It's the most horrible feeling to be bound hand and foot and not be able to speak. It was even worse being hoisted on the back of my horse like a bag of flour, the most undignified experience of my life. He rode into a nearby grove and into some thick underbrush, then tethered the horses and left me sitting at the base of a tree while he went back to the outcropping to watch for anyone who might be on our trail.

I sat there for hours. Several times I heard hoofbeats thundering past just beyond our hiding place, and though I squirmed about in the underbrush to make noise, I was bound too well to do much. Most of the time I sat there stewing, and as my head cleared, anger gave way to fear. It was obvious this was something Magg had carefully planned, not a mad sudden impulse. Who was the "she" he spoke of? And what was his babbling of a "kingdom" about? The "queen" comment I understood well enough, but its implications were not comforting. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to stay calm, but my heart was racing. Soon all I could think was, _Taran, where are you?_ It beat over and over in my head like a drum.

The sun rose higher and I grew fearfully thirsty. My stomach began growling so loudly I hoped someone searching might hear it, and my arms ached from being bound.

It must have been past midday when Magg came back. He dangled a skin of water in front of my face and then brandished a knife. "Thirsty, aren't you? I'll give you a drink. But if you make so much as a peep while that scarf is off, I'll alter that pretty face so even your pig-boy won't recognize you." I was too tired by then to doubt him. He held the knife to my throat while he pulled the gag off with one hand and tilted the water to my mouth. I choked on it once and he spilled it everywhere. It's a strange thing that in such circumstances you can still be annoyed by little things – I remember being irritated that my dress was wet. I scowled at him as murderously as I could, and he chuckled quietly as he replaced the gag.

We sat there into the twilight, and there were no more hoofbeats. Once I thought I heard a lot of yelling off to the left, but if it was there at all, it was too far away to do me any good. It was awful, sitting there, with Magg leering at me when he wasn't peering through the leaves. I refused to look at him, and thank goodness he was too concerned about being overheard to talk.

Once it got quite dark, he pulled me back on to the horse and rode through the trees to the riverbank. He pulled me down, and gave both the horses a slap and a yell that sent them flying, disappearing in moments in the trees. There was a boat hidden in a thicket, and as I saw him pulling it out, I realized it was my last chance to escape – there'd be no getting out of a boat, unless I wanted to drown, and although I _might_ get to the point where I'd prefer drowning to the alternatives, I wasn't there yet.

I'd been straining at the bonds on my feet during the morning, and all the jostling of the horse ride had helped along, so I was able to walk with very tiny steps, though I ran the risk of tripping. I stayed close behind Magg as he pulled the boat to the water, and waited until he was precariously bending over it. Then I threw myself at him as hard as I could.

I had a vague idea that I could knock him into the boat and that his own momentum would carry it into the current and down the river without me. It was the only thing I could think of. Unfortunately it didn't quite work. He fell, all right, but into the water rather than the boat, and came up spluttering and cursing. I had turned to try to run back up the bank, but it was a useless endeavor, motivated more by panic than anything. He was on me in a moment, and threw me to the ground with a blow that almost knocked me senseless. I was dimly aware of a flash of something reflective rolling away on my right, and when he jerked me to my feet I realized in dismay that it was my bauble – I couldn't feel its cold weight at my side where it normally hangs; all the flailing about had jostled it free of its pocket.

The fool was too busy ranting at me to notice it. He threw an arm round my waist, lifting me off my feet. "You little wretch. I'll have that fire out of you or…" A long-fingered hand grabbed my chin, forcing my face up to look at him. His pale eyes reflected moonlight off the water. He bared his teeth in a feral smile. If I hadn't been gagged, I'd have spat at him.

"All in good time," he repeated, as if to himself, through his clenched teeth. "The higher the spirit, the better the breaking." He hesitated, and his eyes darkened, flickering over my face, then further.

At that moment there was a raucous noise from overhead, and I jerked my head away to look toward the familiar source. It was Kaw, and he came zooming like a black arrow toward us. I tried to shout, forgetting the gag, so all that came out was a muffled whoop.

Magg swore as Kaw flew at him, clawing for his eyes. He tossed me over his shoulder, using me as a shield, and staggered to the boat. I landed none too gracefully at the bottom, and twisted about to see Kaw fluttering madly around Magg's head, all the while screaming, "Bad Magg! Bad Magg!" as he jabbed at him with beak and claw. Magg finally caught him a clout that sent him spinning, and by then we were in mid-river, the current carrying us swiftly away.

I watched in despair as Kaw fluttered to the bank and shook himself. Then he gave a final cry that sounded like, "Taran! Rescue!" and took off in the other direction.

The boat ride was silent and grim. I squirmed to the fore end of the little boat and huddled there, listening to Magg panting hoarsely from the aft. The only other sound was the gurgling of the water, and the dripping of his clothes into the bottom of the boat. It must have been sheer exhaustion that allowed me to fall asleep, and I knew nothing more until the boat bumped against a gravelly shore, and I opened my eyes to see Achren's white face smiling icily at me in the moonlight.

It's another thing I see in nightmares.


	12. Romances and Intrigues

Sixteenth day of Equos, lighttime

I don't know what came over me yesterday to begin writing about Magg and being kidnapped and what-all. It just started spilling out and before I knew it my time was up. It was odd, reading over it, but somehow I felt better afterward. Satisfying, like cleaning out a particularly nasty pot in the scullery.

At any rate, I _meant_ to tell about Rhun's setting out on his tour, which he did yesterday noon. I skipped the morning embroidery session in order to see him off, along with Mae and some of the other women. He was as excited as a kitten in a dandelion patch, scurrying about and giving orders right and left. Some of them were actually sensible ones, too. But in any case he has twenty of the best guard in Dinas Rhydnant; I think he'll be safe enough. They have strict orders to keep him to the assigned routes.

He did look surprisingly nice riding at the head of that many warriors. Of course by then I was watching from one of the balconies, and details don't show so much from that far up. But it was a splendid scene; all the banners out, everyone in finery, and the silver notes of the heralds' horns falling like rain as the party rode away. He turned in the saddle at the castle gate, and saluted up at the balcony where Mae and I stood with the king and queen; a big, hearty salute that almost unbalanced him, and caught the edge of his cloak with the point of his sword. At least it was his own cloak this time! Beside me Mae sighed, and shook her head, but when I looked at her she was smiling softly to herself.

I'm really beginning to believe Mae might have something of an extra-familial attachment to her second-cousin, once removed. Or is he her third cousin? I can never remember how it works. I suppose some of the people on Mona could even be third or fourth cousins of mine, since I'm told that there was much intermarriage between the royal families. I do wonder if any of my father's kin are still alive, but I suppose there isn't any way to find out.

I made my midnight trek to the garden gate last night, but all in vain. I got down all right, cloaked and hooded and keeping to the back corridors. It was a fine night, clear, with the stars glittering like scattered diamonds and the moon a silver sickle on the horizon. But the gate was locked. I could have beaten the wall for frustration. I could actually _hear_ the roaring of the ocean from this side of the wall – it may as well have been leagues and leagues away. I leaned on the wall and listened for a while before going back in. It's such a mournful, secretive sound – as though the water knows every sad song from the beginning of time, and whispers them to itself in its sleep.

For the first time since the fall of Caer Colur I regretted giving up magic! One of the few charms I had mastered was unlocking locks. Achren certainly regretted teaching it to me, though, because once I knew it I was always poking through her things. She had to put the forbidden mark on everything in her chamber, and finally on her chamber door itself.

I don't know what mischievous goblin in my head made me willing to cross her so often when I knew I'd take a beating for it if I were caught. Perhaps it was simply the allure of the unknown – she did have such interesting things in her chamber, stored away in trunks and cabinets. Crystals and rune-books, enchanted weapons, vials of poisons, stores of odd ingredients for potions, magic candles, and oddments that I couldn't place at all, but now that I think of it, probably had unpleasant uses. And then, of course, there was the jewelry. It was such fun to hide her favorite pieces and watch her turn the room upside down looking for them. There was one awful old horn bracelet...of course it only lasted until she had disposed of all the servants and consorts under suspicion, and through process of elimination discovered I was the one doing it. She seemed honestly surprised to discover I had learned the unlocking charm – annoyed and pleased at the same time. Any time she locked me up after that, she had to use magic to do it. I'm sure it vexed her to have to enspell her own dungeon doors. Fortunately she never knew about the loose flagstones!

Well, anyway, before I go looking for another way out, I'm going to try to find out who has the gate-key and how I can get it away from them. But bother! I _had_ hoped for a swim last night. I even washed my hair, so that I wouldn't have to explain why it was damp this morning. And all for nothing! It's all because of Achren it's locked, too, I expect. They didn't worry much about locking entrances or posting guards before all that. They didn't even have a real war leader, so the queen tells me. Magg held that position!

This morning I had my usual session with her, learning about the joys (or not, as the case may be) of governance. She brought up Magg, and lectured on the danger of putting too much power into the hands of one advisor, even one who had always seemed trustworthy. I take it this was her way of admitting that the king had grown complacent and all too willing to defer to his Chief Steward's opinion on many matters. It does make me wonder about the royal character judgment. And they've picked me for their son! I don't know whether to be indignant or flattered.

Mmph. That whole subject is becoming one about which I hate to think, and when I do I just get boiling mad at everyone in general. Thank heavens Rhun is going to be gone for a while…at least I won't have to put up with being paired with him in _every single_ social setting. I suppose it's only prolonging the inevitable, because sooner or later I shall have to make myself clear to him, and I only hope I can do it as painlessly as possible. I don't think he's really romantically inclined toward me, to be honest…at least I haven't seen any evidence of it. The few times we've been alone together, he's acted exactly the same as always – interested, lighthearted, innocent and frank. It's impossible not to like someone like that. If only I were free to like him without worrying that every friendly gesture would be misconstrued as encouragement! For I think he'd _try_ to fall in love with me for the sake of pleasing his parents.

It's horrible when the queen is around. I've caught her watching Rhun and me while we were talking together and the complacent expectancy on her face just makes me want to smash something. I always wish Taran could walk in at just that moment - I'd run to him and throw my arms round him just to see her expression. Well, perhaps not _just_ for that, but I'd enjoy seeing it all the same.

Sometimes I wish Taran hadn't told me about the betrothal plans, since the knowledge of them makes me so uncomfortable. On the other hand, I wouldn't have been able to reassure him so emphatically, and I suppose he'd have gone home to Caer Dallben thinking never to see me again. His eyes when I told him I wouldn't be betrothed to Rhun! It was like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. If I'd needed any more convincing about what he felt for me…well, anyway, it was all worth the present annoyance. But that conversation deserves its own entry, and just now I'm not in the mood.

Perhaps Mae could be the key to getting me out of this fix. Rhun seems comfortable with her and they've certainly known each other long enough, and surely the king and queen couldn't object to a distant relation. It probably just hasn't occurred to Rhun to notice. But I daresay it wouldn't be wise to meddle as yet. After all, I could be wrong about Mae. I shall have to get her talking about him while he's gone. I wonder if _she_ knows about the betrothal.

I never thought I'd wind up playing matchmaker by coming here! The things one is driven to by desperation. And whoever thought I'd be fending off suitors! I don't know how Aeronwen manages so many young men dancing about her. But I suppose it's different for her since she doesn't really care for any of them.

Rumor has it she has been keeping company with Lord Trefor a great deal, which should please her. I daresay they deserve each other. He has, in fact, stayed behind as a guest of the royal family although his father has returned to his homeland. At any rate, she stays busy enough posing and flirting for him that she rarely has an opportunity to get on my nerves, which suits me perfectly. I only realized it today when I was glancing back over my entries and saw how little I'd written about her lately! Perhaps she'll marry him and move away for good. One can always hope. But they say he also has his eye on Aeryn, one of Aeronwen's former cronies (apparently they've fallen out over him and no longer speak to each other). It should be amusing to see which (if either) of them gets him in the end.

I can't believe I'm writing about romances and intrigues and such silly trash. It's the same nonsense I so despise when the other girls prattle about it incessantly. Unfortunately I'm beginning to understand that it's because they really have little else to discuss. I must be careful about what I write, lest this book become nothing but a rubbish heap of nasty gossip. At least, since I get my information chiefly from Eirliss, it has been significantly cleaned up. The servants gossip juicily, but without the noble ladies' malice.

Enough! Back to the weaving rooms. My fingers are quite cramped from squeezing that shuttle, but I've managed a whole half-inch of cloth. Fascinating!


	13. First Sword Flashback

Eighteenth day of Equos, lighttime

Weaving went on through the rest hours yesterday. I feel as though my neck is going to crack in half, it aches so. I could gladly go through life without ever looking at another thread. How on earth do all these women do this every day and not strangle themselves in their own looms out of sheer madness?

At least I got a bit of a break this morning. Deportment was rather interesting; we learned the proper recitations for the sword-girding ceremony, and I had the distinction of announcing that I'd once girded a sword on Gwydion himself. Mistress Rhona's watery eyes looked likely to pop right out of her head, although whether out of awe at my accomplishment or horror that I hadn't known the correct words to say, I couldn't tell. It's all a lot of romantic rubbish, of course; it's not as though _saying_ someone will be honorable and valorous and mighty in battle will make them be so when the time comes. But when I said as much, Mistress Rhona gazed at me quietly for a moment and then murmured, "If just _anyone_ said so, perhaps. But when a man is given these words from the woman he loves, he will strive to become what she believes him to be."

She moved on immediately to something else, leaving me quite stricken and silent . I fought with myself the rest of the lesson, and I only just now realize why. If Dallben had told me the same thing, I would have thought it brilliant and insightful. But because it was Mistress Rhona – wispy, frail, whispering, lavender-scented Mistress Rhona – my first inclination was to scoff. How dare someone so plain deliver something profound!

It is not a pleasant thing to have one's hitherto unknown prejudices flung into one's face. I feel as though I should apologize to her. But I don't know for what exactly.

Anyway, I suppose she _is_ right. It makes me wish I'd known the ceremony back when I girded Taran's sword for him, although I wasn't feeling too supportive at the time. I think I even insulted him in a backhanded way…but I was fighting between being pleased to be asked and vexed that he asked only because I was the only girl around. How it makes me laugh to remember it, now! He burst through the scullery door all flushed and shining-eyed and clutching that sword like it was long-lost treasure.

"Look! Dallben gave me this! Gird it on me, won't you – I mean, please. Say you will – I want you to be the one to do it," he panted. He must have run clear from the other side of the house.

I nearly dropped a bowl in surprise. It was that last line of his that did it. He'd never said anything to indicate he thought more of me than anyone else, and I felt myself blushing at the implication. I think I was rather too quick to respond; perhaps if I'd been arch and difficult to begin with, he'd have tried harder and been more careful. But I was so pleased I set down my dishes at once. "Of course. If you really want…"

"I do!" he burst out, and then turned very red. "After all, you're the only girl in Caer Dallben."

Idiot boy! Of course he only said it because he was embarrassed, but I didn't realize that at the time. All my romantic assumptions crashed in pieces 'round my ears. I felt as though I'd made a fool of myself, jumping to conclusions, and I could have swatted him with the flat of that sword with a right good will. I remember turning away, snapping something at him about finding someone else and the longer it took, the better, and picking up more dishes to dry just so I'd have something to do with my hands, which were itching to box his ears.

He was dumfounded, the ridiculous thing. He honestly didn't know what he'd done wrong. I don't know whether girls are too complicated or boys are too thick – perhaps both – but it was a familiar enough scenario in our case.

He wheedled me into it anyway by promising to tell me what went on in the council. I was burning to know what it had been about – strange how he knew me well enough to guess _that_, but not why I was angry! I suppose I would have found out anyway, and I tried not to acquiesce too readily, but truth be told, I _did_ want to gird that silly sword on him in spite of myself, and it was as good an excuse as any.

This morning in deportment I was giggling to myself as Mistress Rhona was going on about the symbolic imagery and ceremonial majesty of the sword-girding – women sending off their men to serve and protect them and all that. It is a pretty idea, of course – but I suspect that the ceremony really became popular because it involves a girl putting her arms around her lad's waist. The things that have likely been whispered during these ceremonies! I'm sure she would have called me base and unladylike for pointing it out, however, so I kept it to myself.

Anyhow it was as well that I was already flushed from vexation when I buckled that belt on Taran. He had held his arms up and said nothing while I slid it 'round him, and I studiously avoided looking at his face. It wasn't 'till I noticed that he was holding his breath that I was compelled to begin chattering aimlessly to break the charged silence, however. He had been washing Hen Wen that morning and then trounced by Ellidyr, and up close he still smelled unpleasantly like mud and wet pig, which helped me stay practical. Thank heaven for pigs!

I heard him let out his breath when I stepped back. The sword made him look older; taller, somehow – he was standing up straighter, proudly, head flung back, eyes clear and glittering, face still a bit flushed. He stood in the shaft of light coming in from the doorway, and it danced off his hair and gleamed on the sword hilt. I so rarely saw him look splendid that the scene quite took my breath. I believe the first glimmering realization that I loved him started at just that moment.

I told him, with outrageous understatement, that the sword looked well on him. He grinned, breaking the transformation, suddenly becoming the impulsive, awkward assistant pig-keeper once again. When he drew the blade and held it up, shouting about it being a warrior's weapon, he only struck me as rather ridiculous, if endearing. It is strange how perceptions can change in the span of a heartbeat.

And talk of perceptions changing! A moment later he was beating a hasty retreat amid showers of shattered crockery as I shrieked angrily at him for the sheer injustice that he was asked to go on the quest for Arawn's cauldron and I wasn't. Not that it was his fault, but he was so insufferably condescending. "This is a task for warriors. We can't be burdened with a girl." Oh, I could have beaten him black and blue for that. It still ruffles my feathers a bit to think about it.

Ah, well, that is how it's always been with us. One moment we're on the verge of flirtation, the next we're ready to spar. I daresay it's my fault as often as it is his. Queen Teleria says I am too stubborn, and that a lady is never insistent on her own way but thinks first of others. By that definition, there are quite a few girls in this place who are not ladies at all.

I wonder how it would have been to grow up like this. I mean, if mother hadn't had to run away, and I'd lived at Caer Colur and been raised as a proper princess. Would I be like the girls here – silly and spoiled? I suppose it's unfair to lump the lot of them together – after all, Mae isn't like that. Likely if I'd grown up on Llyr I'd have visited Mona often and Mae and I would have been friends all our lives. Queen Teleria says there was always much coming and going between Mona and Llyr – feasts and hunting parties and ship races and such – and that the families share some common ancestral land on Mona that is used for barrow grounds.

If I'd grown up on Llyr I'd never have had to live with Achren. But then, I would never have met Taran (and then I suppose he'd be dead, for there would have been nobody to rescue him from Achren's dungeon), or lived at Caer Dallben. It was worth putting up with Achren to have that. I wish I hadn't had to lose my parents for it, though.

Ah, well. It's strange being caught between two worlds. I feel sometimes as though my life at Caer Dallben was a dream, or a story I was told once. I can close my eyes and put myself there, and yet it seems so strange to think that right now, as I write, it's still there, with bees buzzing in the apple orchard and turnips growing in the fields, Gurgi chasing mice in the loft, Coll puttering about the stable and Dallben napping in his chamber, and Taran…well, whatever he's doing, he'd better be thinking about me!

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I have an illustration of this scene that is one of my favorites. If you like, you can see it here (you'll have to cut and paste the link, then add an extra colon and backslash after "http". This site holds a deep-seated grudge against hyperlinks, apparently just to make my life difficult): http/elfwood.lysator.liu.se/art/s/u/sunrise/prydain2cfirstsword.jpg.html

To my reviewers: Many, many thanks, everyone. It is great to meet fellow fans of Prydain, and I'm glad I seem to be entertaining a few people besides myself. I talk to several of you in other arenas, but for those who have newly discovered this fic:

Angharad: Mom! (lol, just kidding) Glad I made your Monday, heaven knows Mondays need the help. And I'm glad to hear there are more obsessive fans out there; I'd love to take a gander at your fic, even if you don't post it. Knowing others write this stuff makes me feel like less of a freak.

"Me": glad you are enjoying it in spite of imperfection. I don't expect my interpretation of Eilonwy to be a dead-on match for everyone; the beautiful thing about Alexander's writing is that he paints his characters with enough depth to be interesting, but also broadly enough to be accessible to many. So I think people can identify with one character in a myriad of ways. I'll admit honestly that there is some self-insertion going on here, though! Anyway, hope you continue to be amused by it.

Elouise82: It's funny you should comment on the scene you felt was OoC; I've been round and round with another friend who thought I should make her even MORE discomfited there, just to be interesting. I was playing with the idea that although we know Eilonwy as the Master of the Witty Comeback, it bears remembering that she has always held her own around men (Achren excluded of course) but never dealt with other girls her age, so has no idea how petty and catty they can be. I just thought it would be more interesting to give her some conflict that she CAN'T handle quite as well as she is accustomed, in order to explore a vulnerable side to her personality. Just my take on it, though.

Oh, yes, and I made up the dolphin thing. It just seemed to fit.


	14. Achren, Gwydion, a nod to origens

Twentieth day of Equos, lighttime

Weaving continues at breakneck pace. Apparently the largest of the merchant vessels is set to leave in two days, and they want to make sure it has a full load. Hence the never-ending work. The rooms fairly hum with flying shuttles. I don't know that I've done much to help; in fact today Queen Teleria had me stop struggling with the pitiful hand's breadth of fabric I'd managed and set me to work hauling yarn skeins, sweeping up clippings, and generally doing odd jobs around the room. I wouldn't have minded except a few of the other girls snickered at me, and I'm sure Aeronwen dumped more tangled threads on the floor than necessary just to give me more to do. The queen says I'm to go back to learning weaving once it isn't so urgent, so I'll have plenty of time to go slowly and carefully. I wish she wouldn't bother.

And my hands _are_ drying out in spite of lotions and such. It just can't be helped when one is constantly handling all this everlasting fiber. I shouldn't complain; it's no worse for me than for the others – although most of them have calluses in the proper places from doing so much of this, and my hands are tough in all the wrong spots from hoeing and weeding. I can't even boast of sword or bow-calluses anymore, it's been so long since I've held either – but I don't suppose they would help guard against shuttle blisters anyhow.

The queen says there are ancient weaving arts and skills that have been lost; stolen by Arawn and forgotten by men. There seem to be so many things like that; I wonder how many supposed skills were truly stolen and how many times things just get blamed on him as a convenient excuse when we can't figure out how to do something. What possible use could he have for the secret skills of weaving? Honestly. Though I don't pretend to understand the mind of the Dark Lord, it does seem a silly thing to steal things of no possible use to you just out of spite.

Now that I think on it, Achren said once that one's subjects must not be allowed to grow too successful, or they would decide they didn't need a ruler. I suppose you could take that idea a step further and start cheating them out of their skills, but it does seem a dreadfully unfair way to stay in power. Although why I should be surprised at unfairness in either Achren or Arawn, I've no idea! Llyr, what a pair they must have made. It's difficult for me to imagine, though.

I actually laughed when Dallben told me about Achren's history. I was only a few days or so at Caer Dallben, and I didn't know Dallben well enough yet to realize that one doesn't casually dismiss his assertions. But it seemed such a ridiculous idea. Achren, the consort of the Dark Lord, indeed! I knew she hated him, of course, but I always thought it mere envy; certainly she never admitted to me that they'd been lovers, or that he'd betrayed her and stolen her throne. She would speak wrathfully and bitterly about the days when she was Queen of Prydain, but anytime I asked why she wasn't queen anymore I was sure to get cuffed and told to keep my nose out of places it didn't belong. I still wonder how it all played out. Dallben wouldn't answer most of my questions and said it was complex and involved much that was inappropriate for a young girl to know. Naturally that only makes me more curious!

Taran said when he and Gwydion were captured, just before I found him, that Achren had offered…um…friendship, of a sort, to Gwydion, and it was his spurning her that made her furious enough to lock him up in Oeth-Anoeth. _That_ I can believe. Gwydion is just the sort of man she'd want most _because_ she couldn't have him, I think. She had plenty of consorts, after all – slaves, more or less, although they didn't know it…beastly, barbaric men driven so witless by desire of her that they did her bidding at the blink of an eye. She used to tell me that was why women would always be more powerful than men at the last. I never knew whether to believe her or not.

How I wish I could have seen her face when Gwydion refused her! Taran says it wasn't a pretty scene at all, but he always had trouble describing it. He's never been able to put his finger on why, but he says that Gwydion seemed as sad as he was angry. "As though it broke his heart to see her," he said finally, and that was as much as I could ever get out of him. Yet another complexity, no doubt masking something Dallben would consider inappropriate.

And to think now she's living at Caer Dallben! For she agreed to journey back with Taran and seek refuge there, after Gwydion prevented her from killing herself on the beach that day.

Gwydion again. There really is something puzzling about the two of them.

He stayed a few more days at Dinas Rhydnant, which threw the king and queen into great discomfiture. They were quite dismayed to find that the shoemaker they'd been ordering around was really the Prince of Don. I remember seeing a few guards falling over each other in their haste to raise the sunburst banner. Gwydion was polite as always, but quieter than usual, and that is saying something, for he doesn't waste words even at his most eloquent. His eyes never change, and you can't ever tell what he's thinking.

He spent a little time talking to me, gently pressing for more details about my ordeal. I don't know what he got out of it. I still didn't remember much of anything at that point, and it's only come trickling back to me little by little since. It's too bad he isn't around to hear the rest of it. I wonder why he wanted to know.

He told me right away that it was by his own advice that Taran had been so maddeningly protective when I first got here. I asked him why he hadn't just come to me and warned me about Achren himself. He gave me a long look with those unreadable eyes.

"Would you have heeded warning?" he asked finally, and I started to say of course I would have. But he held up a hand, with an odd little smirk at the corner of his mouth. "Think twice and speak once."

So I thought. And began to squirm inside my head. Because the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I would not simply have brushed aside thoughts of Achren and gone right ahead and done whatever I could get away with, and then whether sheer curiosity might not have sent me looking for Caer Colur eventually anyway.

I suppose my long silence was enough of an answer, for Gwydion tilted his head knowingly. "You have ever been heedless of your own safety. But I had more than one reason for not revealing all to you. It was only on a hunch of Dallben's that I came at all, and I did not wish to alarm – or more likely, interest you needlessly should there turn out to be nothing to fear. By the time I guessed the truth of the matter, you were too difficult to reach, and I still feared your impulsiveness." He spread his hands apologetically. "Taran of Caer Dallben has been known to be impulsive as well on occasion. But I knew that where your safety was concerned, he would take a personal interest. Thus I directed him to protect you. There was not one who would have done so as devotedly."

He gave me another long look, and I felt my face warming under it. It seemed suddenly as though he knew everything about how I felt about Taran. It made me so uncomfortable I turned away from him. "He would do anything you asked of him with equal zeal," I said lightly, which was true enough. Taran has always worshipped the very ground Gwydion walks on.

"Maybe," Gwydion said, giving a dry chuckle. "But doubt not, Princess, he would have given up his life to save you."

I knew that, of course. But it still made me absurdly glad to know that someone else did.

There was something else I'd been wanting to ask him, without knowing whether I really wanted to hear the answer. ButI didn't know if I'd get another chance.

"Gwydion," I faltered, forgetting to call him 'Lord' – how horrified Queen Teleria would have been – "What did she want me for in the first place?"

He was silent for some time, so long that I thought he wasn't going to answer. When I looked at him he seemed to be staring at his own knees, but it was clear he was seeing something else entirely. His gaze was blank and faraway. Finally he spoke, and his voice was rather heavy.

"You know very little of your heritage, and so you cannot understand how powerful the line of Llyr actually was." He looked out over the battlements – we were sitting outside on top of the eastern watchtower. "There is enough latent magic in your blood to lay waste to Prydain, if you only knew how."

I stared at him, my scalp crinkling as though icy trickles of melting snow were running down my head. I wondered if he could be wrong. Achren had never told me any such thing; in fact, she had always said I had little talent and less potential. When I said so, Gwydion looked at me gravely.

"She feared you. She taught you nothing but the most basic enchantment deliberately, knowing that as her power waned, you would become a threat to her. She thought instead to harness your ability and use it to conquer Prydain once more for herself. And so she should have done, had you not willingly relinquished your own birthright." He laid a hand on my shoulder. "So in truth, I must thank _you_. It was not only our lives that were saved by your sacrifice, but my kingdom as well."

It seemed so ridiculous and wrong. I wanted to tell him to stop looking at me as though I should be bronzed – I didn't sacrifice anything, not really, at least not anything I missed, for it isn't as though my magical abilities had ever done me any good. The only difficult part was giving up the thought of being _home_, the feeling of _belonging_, the sense that for the first time I really knew who I was – it was as though the very stones of Caer Colur whispered to me of wholeness. But most of that was Achren's spell, and what wasn't…I guess I can keep the bits that were real, with or without magic in my blood.

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A few shoutouts to new reviews: 

**Pseudanonymous**: I LOVE YOU. -ahem- or, more accurately, I love your profile page, and consider it an honor that you like my fic. Thank you for pointing out the bit about the sugar; you are absolutely correct and I can't believe I made such a silly faux pas. It has been fixed.

**Angharad**: Fear not, you are not the first toship Gwydion/Achren;according to other comments I've had elsewhere, it's a fairly popular pairing, which made me consider it enough to play a leeeetle on the edge of it here, although it had never occured to me before. Surprisingly enough, the idea has some basis in mythology, if not in the Prydain canon per se. Although a woman named Achren does appear in Welsh myth, Achren as _we_ know her shares more similarities with the mythological character of Arianrhod, who is actually Gwydion's sister. There is also some implication of an incestuous relationship between them. Aren't you glad Alexander cleaned all of this up for us?

**Me**: I'm not bothered by criticism! It's okay, really. And I have fixed that link, so try it again (you'll still have to cut and paste).

**Aine**: Not weird. I know what voice is, and I am flattered. Thank you!

**Eloise82**: Glad you are continuing to enjoy. I had a lot of fun with that scene. To be honest, Ilove doing Eilonwy's PoV on scenes we have already seen in canon, because then I don't have to make up new material. Lazy, aren't I.


	15. Chat in the Garden

Twenty-third day of Equos, lighttime

There've been no rest hours the last three days, due to that enormous shipment that just had to go out yesterday. I don't know why the captains are so adamant about shipping out at certain times; it's not as though anyone is telling them what to do. I know the tides matter, but why certain days over others? Mae says the sea-farers have lists of do's and don'ts so long she doesn't know how they keep them in their heads, but that it's very unlucky to ship out on certain days, or at certain times, or even if you've been asked certain questions or seen certain things. She isn't allowed anywhere near the harbor on shipping days, and says I likely wouldn't be either, because it's unlucky to see a redhead before sailing.

It all sounds a bit silly to me. Besides, what if a sailor has red hair? It's common enough. Do they dye it, or just shave their heads? When I asked her, she laughed, and said there were ways to counteract the bad luck, and whether I'd seen any of the sailors bending over and touching their boots when I came on board the ship on the way over to Mona. And come to think of it, I had, and Mae explained that they were touching the iron nails in their boot soles to ward off the double bad luck of having a redheaded woman on board.

It seems about as ridiculous as hanging out your wash in a rainstorm. But likely there are people somewhere who do that, too, for luck.

Anyhow, the ship went out today, iron nails and all, and we've all finally gotten a chance to catch our breath. The queen told me I need not come to the sewing rooms today if I didn't wish it, as most of the ladies would be resting. To be sure, most of them rest by doing their embroidery, so I suppose the rooms are as crowded as usual, but at least there need be no spinning for me today. The weaving isn't done, by any means, but there is time to take a day off before we begin again for the next shipment.

I spent this morning roaming the gardens, trying inauspiciously to find out who keeps the key for that infernal locked gate behind the herbs. The gardeners were intent on their work, friendly but none-too-conversational, at least until I crouched down beside one rosy-cheeked round matron and began helping her pull weeds.

"You munna do it!" she exclaimed, lightly patting my hands away and looking me in the face for the first time. Her eyes, under the shady brim of her hat, were very blue, and framed with sun-lines. "It's nae work fur a princess!"

I'm so tired of being coddled, and made to do silly things I hate while being forbidden to do useful things I like. "Psh," I said, "It's the work I've been doing for the last four years. Please, let me. It's so much more satisfying than all the sewing, and it reminds me of home."

Her expression was anxious, but clearly she hadn't spare time to argue. "As ye will, Lady. On'y don't ruin yer pretty hands."

I scowled at my hands, gone so soft over the past month, and jerked up a particularly nasty weed with relish. We were working in the carrot patch, and their feathery tops waved gently in the breeze. The sun was warm but not overwhelming, and bees buzzed lazily here and there. The smell of earth and green things was all around. I sighed to myself. "How lovely."

I didn't think I'd said it out loud, but my companion turned a flushed face to me, smiling a little. "Aye, lovely it is. 'Tis a day straight from the Summer Country, that's sure, though I'm thinking we'll have rain before the morrow." She watched me shake the dirt off the roots of another weed. "Ye spoke truly, Lady – ye've done this afore."

"Of course," I said, surprised. "But it isn't that difficult, is it? I mean, how can you tell?"

She laughed, a bell-like sound that seemed to come from her toes. "Nae, but listen to her! If ye could have seen the prince himself try to pull a weed! He were but a wee lad playing in the gardens, and decided to help – but never having done it, he took up half a row of turnips along with his weeds, and broke most of the bad 'uns down at their roots, instead of pullin' 'em up clean." She shook her head, smiling. "Well it were that he lost interest, or we'd've had no turnips that season."

I was chuckling. "I did the same thing, the first time I had to pull weeds. It was Coll who taught me to do it properly. I'd forgotten."

There was a quaver in my voice, and she looked at me keenly. "Ye miss the place ye come from." It was a statement, not a question, and I nodded wordlessly.

"Do ye feel no kinship wi' this place?" she asked, a queer little catch in her voice. It caught me off-guard, and I stared at her, feeling odd. "Should I?"

"T'was the land of your ancestors," she said, sweeping her arm toward the garden walls in the direction of the sea. "The resting place of your kin. And ye _are_ yer mother's daughter."

I sat back on my heels, frowning a bit. "Well, of course I'm my mother's daughter. What on earth does that mean?"

She hitched herself a little further down the row. "Just…an old sayin', my lady. Meanin' you favor her." Her eyes glowed with sudden warmth as she studied my face. "Aye," she murmured, as if to herself. "You are yer mother made over. On'y wi'out her green eyes. Yer eyes are yer father's, I'm thinking."

I felt my heartbeat flutter rapidly, and my breath come short. My hand hurt, and I realized suddenly I was clenching a just-pulled weed so tightly that I was cutting my fingernails into my palm. I watched my fingers loosen over the crumpled thing, wonderingly, as though my hand belonged to someone else. The weed fell to the upturned earth.

"You…" I took a deep breath. "You knew my mother?"

Her gaze was compassionate and sad. "Aye."

Some rational part of my head pointed out that this woman was at least three times my age, and that there was nothing terribly surprising about this. But somehow I couldn't make sense of it.

"I were a gardener at Caer Colur," she explained softly, twirling a weed in her brown fingers. "A young thing, back then, but I remember. I were eight when the little princess Angharad was born, and ach! The feasting and revelry that went on! Won't I remember it 'till me dying day!" Her eyes shone.

"She were a sweet thing," she went on. "Always playin' in the gardens, and a one for the mischief. She kept her nurse's feet to the fire, I can tell ye. Never a one to back down when she was crossed. Ye've a bit o' that, too, if I see ye aright." She winked at me, and I ought to have said something, but found I couldn't.

"Ye've got her looks and her voice," she said, nodding at me. "That hair like spun fire and sunlight. And her way of standin' straight and lookin' a body in the eye. But her eyes was green – green as the sea in the harbor. She got _them_ from the queen, but it were all she got from her – except mayhap her stubbornness. Queen Regat was good – but proud and hard." She sighed. "Yer mam got her sunny looks and her happy ways from her da. But the king died when she was still a girl."

We had both stopped weeding by now, and were interrupted by a boy coming along with a wheelbarrow to take away the rubbish. I helped her hastily toss the dying weeds into the cart, eager to hear more. It seemed not quite real that she was actually talking about my own family.

"How?" I asked breathlessly, when the wheelbarrow creaked away.

She mopped her forehead with a kerchief, and blew her breath out loudly. "How what, dearie? Oh, how he died. It were a boating accident. Capsized during a sudden storm, and the whole crew crushed up on the rocks. Ye've seen how rough be the west shore of Llyr. He were a good shipman, but yer family belongs to the sea, and the sea will have its own." She was silent for a while, working, and I realized I hadn't pulled a weed in some time. I crossed over the row, and crouched down in a new spot.

"Yer mam took it hard. She were her father's girl, and on'y just thirteen years old. 'Tis a hard time to lose a father, though mayhap there ain't never an _easy_ time." I felt her glance at me quickly. "I were a young lady, then, and about to be married. My man were a fisherman off the coast of Mona; we met at Beltain – all the folk from Llyr came over to Mona for the festivals, for there weren't no room on Llyr for their own. After I was wed and moved to Mona, I on'y saw your mam twice more – once at the burial of King Rhuddlum's father, and once more at Imbolc – 'twas her first year to take part in the women's rituals." She sighed. "I dinna see her after that, for I was home with my wee ones. But it were two years later that word come she'd disappeared…run off with a young magician. The queen sent scouts and combed the whole country from top to bottom, but only hints came back about where they'd gone, and by the time the hints was followed up on, they was long stale."

I was holding my breath, and let it out in a whoosh. "Queen Teleria says that Caer Colur was attacked soon after that."

She shook her head, looking troubled. "Aye. It were most queer. Of course we on Mona dinna know the details – whoever done it come from over the sea, and we dinna know nothing about it 'till we had to fend it off ourselves -- but it wasn't no army. The dead that was found at Llyr wasn't killed by swords or arrows. They was just…dead. As though they'd dropped as one from elf-shot. On'y the great hall in Caer Colur showed signs of struggle – and even there it weren't from regular fighting. The walls was scorched in places, as though struck by lightning. The banners was all burnt. And the queen was found dead at the foot of the dais, clutching her staff so tight them as found her had to pry her fingers off it, and all the color was drained out of her face and hair – her that had such raven-black hair. It were silver as moonlight."

I caught my breath. It sounded so like Achren. "It…it sounds like magic."

She blinked, looking at me suddenly as though she'd forgotten I was there, and her lined face twisted in dismay. "Ach, child, I shouldna be tellin' ye this. 'Tis too much sadness for ye to know, and about yer own family."

"It's all right," I said quickly, reaching out and taking her hand. "I've seen some of it, you know. And I didn't expect it to be a pleasant tale. My own experience with the place certainly wasn't."

She patted my hand and sniffed. "Aye. Ye've had sadness o' yer own, I take it. But I dinna want to add grief to grief. Too young ye are to have seen such things."

"That's just silly," I said, sitting back. "I've seen what I've seen. I can't go back and take it out of my head. So I may as well know whatever there is to know."

She laughed in the middle of a sniffle. "So speaks the daughter! Ach, but ye are like her!" She took her kerchief out again, and blew her nose.

"Isn't much more to know," she said, reaching for another weed. "The king and queen make much of Mona having to defend itself against the same evil, but there weren't much left of it by the time it got to us. Like I said, there wasn't no army. Just a wave of…something, that came over the water and swept over the land like an ill wind. Those that was outside, and on the coast nearest Llyr when it came, just dropped dead in their tracks, same as the poor folks on Llyr. But it were night by then, and there weren't many out, thanks be. Still, many took sick over the next few days, and there weren't no saving them. And then, we lost our animals, and a good number of fish died too. That was what really caused the ruckus – for there weren't nothing to eat. It was a bad time, all told."

She paused in her work. "But the further it came inland, it seemed to weaken, and finally it all died out. Magic, as you say. It was some foul thing at work – some say it were one of the enchanters yer mam refused getting their revenge. But I'm thinking they wouldn't have wasted their time, seeing as how she were already gone. One thing's certain, though – it weren't no one who wanted Llyr for its own sake. It was just someone who wanted it dead. It's lucky for ye that ye was born and raised far away from it. We'd all hoped ye'd bring it back to life when ye came back, though."

I smiled sadly. "I hoped so, too…for a while. But it would've been for all the wrong reasons."

She nodded shrewdly at me. "There's talk enough about what went on out there. Half of it's trash, and the other half on'y part true, I'm guessing. Ye've got enough o' yer mam's sense to have made the right decision in any case, I'm thinking."

We were both quiet for a while, almost to the end of the carrot row. Then she cleared her throat. "Are ye to be our queen, then, Lady?" When I looked at her, shocked, her blue eyes were twinkling merrily.

"Ye needn't look so surprised," she said, chuckling. "'Tisn't much goes on in the courts that doesn'a make its way to all of us in short time. There's talk all over of the hopes for ye and the prince."

My expression must have spoken for me, for she stopped laughing before I said anything, and looked at me seriously. "Ye've none too much liking for the idea, I take it."

"No, indeed," I admitted. "Though I've nothing against Rhun."

"A lovely boy he is," she declared, brushing the dirt off her hands, "but I'm thinking ye've given yer heart already to another."

I stared at her, warmth creeping into my face, but didn't bother to deny it. "Word really does travel among you, doesn't it?"

She laughed another one of her belly-laughs."It weren't no secret how that farm lad thought of you. Those that saw him say his eyes weren't nowhere else. And all knows it was he who led that rescue party, whatever may be said about his Highness heading it up. Ach,"she sighed, shaking her head, " 'twill be hard for the family if ye don't agree to have the prince. But I remember what it is to be young and in love. Ye'll do what ye mun." She reached out and actually pinched my cheek. I was too embarrassed to be vexed. Besides, I liked her.

I went in for the midday meal presently, and was so busy thinking about what she told me that I completely forgot I'd meant to find out about that blasted gate-key! Not only that, but I forgot to ask her name. I believe all this time stuck in the castle is affecting my wits. I simply _must_ get out of the grounds before I'm as slow and stupid as a legless sheep.

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A/N: Sorry for the long wait for an update, my faithful few followers. I spent the holidays moving to a new home and it's been quite the stressful and busy season. I'll try to get back to doing this with a bit more regularity, and have discovered that writing is a good distraction from morning sickness, so hopefully will be able to devote more time to it while Iremain occupied with building the next little Prydain-fan-in-the-making.

Meanwhile, for your reading pleasure, please note that Lloyd Alexander now has his own category, thanks to a request from Yours Truly, and there are a couple of new Prydain fics in the making, both of which seem to have much potential. _Black Shadow, Golden Sun_ is excellent, if you can get over the pairing, and needs more reviews to keep its author going (so go review) while _Captive Soul_ looks to be rather dark but intensely interesting, if its author ever gets back to it.

I've heard rumors that responding to reviewers here is now being frowned upon, so I will save my replies to those of you who are ffn members - all others, my apologies. Please know that I do read every review and appreciate them with maniacal joy. _Bwah ha ha haaaaaaaa_...


	16. The Truth Comes Out

Twenty-fifth day of Equos, lighttime

Back to weaving again yesterday. And, as promised (or threatened), I've been plunked down once more in front of a loom. The queen is determined to teach me this skill even if it kills one of us, and I don't know if she'll be sorry if I'm the first to go. She made me stay through the afternoon yesterday and continue to practice.

It was my own fault. I was so busy mulling over my chat with the gardener the day before that I wasn't paying attention to what I was doing, and the results were predictable. I believe the queen was ready to rap my knuckles with the shuttle a time or two, the first being when she caught sight of my fingernails and demanded to know what I'd been doing to get so filthy.

"I was in the garden," I explained, "talking to one of the gardeners, and helping her pull weeds to pass the time."

Queen Teleria tutted, but apparently couldn't find anything more terrible to say about this than, "Well, you are used to such work, I suppose. But, heavens, child, is it so difficult to get the earth out from under your nails?"

"It wouldn't be," I replied, a little tartly, "if I hadn't had my dagger taken away. The dinner knives aren't sharp enough."

She put a hand to her heart as though she felt faint. "Never mind. On with your work – don't slouch over the loom, no wonder it makes your neck ache – remember the shuttle should slide smoothly between the threads. Don't jerk it like a fishing line."

And so it went.

This morning in the sewing room I told Mae everything I'd learned from the gardener. We were off in our corner by the window, with the sunlight streaming in pleasantly and the birds singing outside, which _almost_ drowned out Aeronwen's flock's tittering across the room.

She was intensely interested.

"Nobody ever talks about what happened," she said, after I'd finished. "I've heard Father and Mother say how horrible it was, and that Mona lost hundreds of lives. But they would never say how."

"Queen Teleria made it sound like there was a battle against an invader," I said, mulling over that day in her chambers. Mae shook her head, red curls bouncing.

"There's never been a battle on Mona," she said firmly. "Who would want it? Sheep and fish is all we've got, and the monarchs aren't the type to make enemies just for the fun of it. Why do you think Magg was the war leader?"

"He was certainly no warrior," I giggled, a dim vision of Fflewddur sitting on him floating to my memory.

"They never needed a _real_ one," Mae said, rolling her eyes and looking out over the treetops. "I've never even seen one. I do wish I could have been here to see Gwydion. They say he's the greatest warrior in Prydain." She plucked absently at the cloth in her lap, but her eyes were on the sky, and shining. She turned to me. "What's he like? Truly."

I leaned into the window, resting my chin on my hand, forgetting my own embroidery. "Gwydion? He's…rugged. Mysterious. Quick and lean, like a wolf. Quiet, but…you always know it when he's there, somehow. The way you know it when the sun is out."

Mae sighed. "They say he's very handsome."

I frowned. "I suppose he is. I don't know. I've seen more of him when he's been out in the woods for weeks, dirty and unshaved and with burs in his hair. But anyway, I've been around him too much to think about whether he's handsome or not. It would be like…swooning over an uncle."

She wrinkled her nose at me and laughed. "Well, that just ruined my daydream. Thank you very much."

"Well," I said, feeling rather wicked and grinning at her, "One could swoon over a cousin instead."

I don't think she could have looked more shocked if I'd thrown a toad at her. Her smile froze and then faded, while her face began to match her hair. She stared at me for a moment with round eyes, then broke away quickly and seemed to examine a crack in the masonry of the casement.

It was a terrible thing for me to spring it on her that way, and I felt my own face grow hot with embarrassment. "Oh, Mae. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"It's all right," she said quickly, shaking her head and giving me a quick questioning glance. "I just…I didn't realize I was so…obvious." She ran her finger over the crack in the casement awkwardly, then looked up at me again, her eyes troubled. "How long have you known?"

"I haven't _known_," I said, shrugging. "Only suspected. Since the picnic at the shore. You hide it very well, actually. I don't think anyone else has noticed."

She sighed, visibly relieved. "I've tried to stop," she murmured unhappily, "but it's gone on for too long. I loved him even when we were little."

I admit I find the idea of anyone being in love with Rhun a little unfathomable. He's just so…puppy-like. But clearly Mae sees something in him that I don't, so I tried to be sympathetic.

"Does he know?" I asked her, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

"No. At least I don't think so," she said, "but you know him. He doesn't notice much that doesn't beat him over the head."

How she can know him that well and be in love with him is beyond me. Perhaps she finds it endearing. I felt a perverse inclination to laugh, and fought it down valiantly.

"Perhaps you ought to tell him," I suggested.

Her expression was horrified. "Oh, no, I couldn't! Think how awkward it would be. When he's to be your…" She broke off, her eyes brimming, and looked away quickly.

She did know, then. I amfinished withbeing surprised over anyone knowing the details of my supposed future better than I do.

"Mae," I whispered, tugging at her sleeve. "Would it help if I assured you that I don't plan to marry Rhun, no matter what anyone else has said?"

Her eyes darted back to me, wide and round. "You…but it's why you're here! Everyone knows that."

"Then everyone's wrong," I said, feeling my mouth tighten stubbornly. "I came here to learn to be a fine lady and nobody asked me if I wanted _that_. And they certainly didn't ask if I wanted a husband into the bargain, which I don't. And anyone who thinks I won't have a choice in the end is very much mistaken." A memory of my talk with Taran on the beach floated to the surface of my mind, and I smiledrather smuglyto myself.

Mae listened, and her eyes doubtful. "You'll break his heart," she murmured, almost defensively.

I suppose it is real love when you'd rather your lad wed someone else than see him unhappy. I wonder if I could do it…

No. I just tried, and the thought of Taran with anyone else makes me want to push them both off a tower. Perhaps I still have some growing up to do in that regard.

Anyway, I shook my head. "I don't think so. Rhun isn't in love with me any more than I am with him. He's a dear boy and we are friends. But if he has marriage in mind, it's because his parents wish it, not he."

Mae shook her head dubiously. "Maybe. But he still wouldn't think of me. I'm just the cousin that's always been around."

I couldn't contain my own curiosity, and asked, "What is it you love about him?"

Her hazel eyes sparkled. "He's just so _good_. He always has been. My first memory is of him comforting me after my older brother had bullied me into tears. I was only seven, and Rhun was eight. He even challenged my brother to a fight over it, and got thoroughly trounced – my brother was eleven, and a brute. I still remember Rhun pretending that his bloody nose and black eye didn't really hurt." Her laugh was a bit melancholy. "He's always been that way. I know he's a little clumsy, and even a bit dense at times. But his heart is so big and…and gallant. I can't help loving him." There were tears in her eyes.

I was silent, listening. It almost made _me_ want to cry. She's right about Rhun, of course – I could even imagine him, a little tow-haired boy, trying to pick a fight with some redheaded bully, and it gave me more respect for him. Everything she said was true…and yet I still can't imagine being in love with him. Which is just as well, I suppose. It makes my own decision far less complicated.

Mae sniffled a bit, and brushed at her eyes. "Anyway, I knew from the beginning that Cousin Rhuddlum intended you for him. I was prepared to dislike you from the moment we met, but the stories I heard about you wouldn't let me. Particularly seeing how much Aeronwen hated you. I thought anyone who rubbed her so wrong just couldn't be disliked." She giggled, somewhat hysterically. "It's been difficult, sometimes, trying to remind myself that one day you'd be Queen."

"In a…pig's eye," I said, jabbing my needle right into that exact spot in my Hen Wen embroidery. "What do I want with a kingdom? I wouldn't marry Rhun if he were High King of all Prydain. So there."

"You _are_ a princess," she pointed out.

"Prydain is riddled with royalty," I said, scowling at a knot in my thread. "With all these cantrevs – I've met as many kings and princes as common people, and they're no better or worse for the most part. It isn't who your relatives are that make you yourself…though it's nice to know," I admitted, thinking of Caer Colur and the stories of Llyr.

The queen came over at that moment to tell me I was late for deportment. And now I am nearly late for the afternoon weaving session, what a shame! Until tomorrow…

* * *

A/N: Thanks for the welcome back, everyone. Sorry I had some of you so anxious. But as you see, I'm keeping my word! I would have had this up yesterday, but ffn hates me.

Yes, the "riddled with royalty" line is a joke - I've heard numerous critics expressbewilderment that just about every other character in Prydain is a king or a prince of some kind. I just had to have some fun with it.


	17. Tired of Royal Attire

Twenty-sixth of Equos, lighttime

Full moon in two days. If I don't find out about that gate key I'll start ripping fringe off my bed cushions.

It was dreadfully hot today. I nearly fell asleep in the sewing chamber this morning, and only stayed awake by watching old Heledd, who really _did_ fall asleep. She had her head tilted back against the wall and her mouth wide open, snoring, and there was a fly buzzing round which kept looking as though it were going to zoom straight in. To her mouth, I mean. Mae and I kept trying to predict when it would happen, and once it came so close we both clapped our own hands over our mouths in disgust, but just as it got almost there she let out with a tremendous snore like the bellow of an ox. The poor fly seemed really to jump back in midair. I wonder what went on in its addled little brain, if flies think about anything. No doubt Medwyn could tell me.

It's terrible to laugh about a poor old woman nearly swallowing a fly. But I couldn't help feeling a little vindictive. Heledd has always been one of my loudest critics, although to be honest she doesn't really seem to like anyone. I hope I'm not so crotchety and unpleasant when I get old, if I live so long.

It's still hot, now – worse, really, as this morning had a bit of breeze, but it's long gone. I'm fearfully sleepy, but if I nap I'll never sleep tonight. I'm sorely tempted to strip down a few layers, but it's such a headache putting things back on, and Eirliss is out doing whatever it is she does during the day when she isn't waiting on me.

I wonder why noble ladies wear so much clothing. I was so much more comfortable in my old things. Of course my old things weren't as pretty, but one would think you could make something that looked nice but didn't require three or four separate garment layers. Just now I'm wearing…let's see…my undershift and chemise, both linen, and chemise long and sleeved…then an underdress, also linen, long, and sleeved…and an embroidered woolen gown over that. And it, of course, also has sleeves; not quite as long as the others, but they make up for it by dangling in long heavy drapes from my elbows. I might as well be wearing curtains. Oh, it's miserable. I only needed this many layers in Caer Dallben in the dead of winter.

Of course, a few of the things I appropriated for my use there would definitely raise some eyebrows in these parts. Taran's old leggings, for one. How Coll laughed when I asked for them!

Actually at first he seemed bewildered and a bit put off. I remember it well. He was in the middle of mucking out Lluagor's stall when I approached him about it, and he paused and looked at me, red-faced.

"What on earth do you want them for?" he said, cocking his bald head and leaning against his pitchfork in astonishment.

"To wear, of course," I answered – I distinctly remember thinking it was an utterly ridiculous question, although of course now I can see his point of view a bit better. It must have been unsettling.

"My gown is getting too short," I added, twitching up my tattered skirt to show him my bare knees. Between losing fabric from the hem at an alarming rate and growing several inches in the three months since I'd come to Caer Dallben, I was verging on indecency.

"Then we'll make you a longer one," Coll puffed, mopping his brow with the hem of his shirt. "There's no call for you to be running about in lad's clothes, whatever."

"No, no," I assured him hurriedly, climbing onto the fence and sitting on the top rail, bare feet swinging. "I don't want longer skirts, they'd be such a bother. I wouldn't be wearing _just_ leggings. I'd wear them _under_ my skirt – cut them off so you couldn't see them."

He was really confused now. "Then why bother with them, lass?"

I was getting annoyed with him for making me explain it. "Because I can't _do_ anything. You try climbing a tree in nothing but _this_." I shook my skirt at him again. "It's not decent. I can't even pull weeds if it's a windy day because I daren't bend over."

That was when he laughed – a hearty, ringing laugh that made him throw his head back and brought Hen Wen snuffling curiously to the edge of the fence. I was a little embarrassed, but rolled my eyes and pretended not to be bothered.

"I do see the use of it," he said finally, dabbing at his eyes. "Well, you're likely to find an old pair in the scrap bag – be sure to check if they need patching." He was still laughing to himself when I hopped off the fence and headed to the house. My pride was ruffled, I admit. But now I can see how funny it was. Still, they _were_ practical. Taran was mortified when he realized I had them, which wasn't for weeks, as I'd cut them off at about mid-thigh as planned, but the very fact that he saw them at all proved the need for them and I felt quite vindicated.

"Are those my _leggings_?" he yelped, after I had spent a moment too long dangling by my arms from a tree branch slightly above him.

I landed on the ground beside him. "No," I said tartly, tossing my head. "They're mine, whatever they used to be. And I'll thank you to keep your eyes turned somewhere else when I'm in such a position."

When he's embarrassed his ears turn red first, and they did so now. "They _are_ mine," he said, scandalized and accusatory. "Where did _you_ get them?"

"From the scrap bag, of course," I replied. "They're too small for you and Coll said I could have them." I stared him down, hands on hips, daring him silently to argue.

He opened his mouth and closed it a few times. "It doesn't seem quite…decent," he said finally.

"More so than the alternative," I snapped, then added, "but if you're jealous, go without your own sometime, and _you_ can see what it's like to go running about with nothing on your legs."

He couldn't argue, but snorted, and muttered to himself, and that was that.

It was lovely, actually, running around in my makeshift clothing. I can't think of any time since then that I've been half so comfortable in the summer. Perhaps the vagabond caravans have the right idea, after all – once a small troupe of them camped near us, and Coll took me and Taran out to see it when he went to trade with them. All the children under the age of six or so were running about stark naked, with the older ones donning a scrap or two and only the youths covering up properly. It seemed sensible to me. So long as the weather was warm, why force little ones into a lot of clothes they'd only get torn and dirty? I watch the little girls around here – who generally just wear smaller variations of the ladies' garments – and although I suppose they are used to it, it can't be good for them to be so weighted down with fabric and tied up in laces. When and how are they supposed to play?

All this writing about clothing or lack thereof is only making me feel more uncomfortable. My neck itches, and there's a seam digging into my hip. Bother! There's nothing so squirm-inducing as sweating inside four layers. It's worse than sleeping on an ant hill.

And it does make me desperately want to swim! I believe I'll make this short and do some prowling about the servants' quarters. Surely _someone_ there can tell me who has that gate-key.

* * *

A/N: Hullo, hullo all! 

I've always wondered how a tomboy like Eilonwy would deal with the issue of underclothing, since such for one's lower half did not appear in Europe until after the French Revolution, and even though Prydain is fictional, it does seem to be set in a sort of alternate Middle Age.But we can't have her running about and climbing trees half-naked, can we? So this chapter made me smirk as I came up with a solution. It also delights me to discomfit Taran at every opportunity.

To Prydain Fan: By "responding" I mean what I am doing now: personally leaving messages within chapters for specific reviewers. I don't know if this has "officially" become a no-no on ffn, or if it was simply a rumor started by a reader who got annoyed with having to scroll through the hundred shout-outs per chapter that some popular authors give out. But as ffn has recently added a "reply" feature to the review section, I assume the site prefers me to use that medium to respond to reviewers if I so desire. Unfortunately, it only is offered in the case of other members of ffn. _C'est la vie._ The crack about ffn "hating" me was only in reference to the fact that for an entire day I was unable to upload a chapter, for no reason whatsoever that I can determine.


	18. Plotting and Planning

Twenty-eighth of Equos, lighttime

At last! I'm one step closer to getting out of the grounds.

It took some doing, too. After I stopped writing two days ago, I tripped down to the gardens again. No sign of the woman I spoke to last, but I dawdled about and kept my eyes open. Eventually I saw the same boy who had been carting the rubbish away last time trundle his latest pile of weeds over to the gate, and fumble inside his tunic. Out came the key, tied to a thong round his neck, and he unlocked the gate and pushed his cart through.

I wasted no time, but tried to look casual as I strolled toward the gate. When I poked my head through, there was the lad, dumping his wheelbarrow onto a pile of mulch. He then took a nearby pitchfork and began turning the pile, his back toward me.

I took the moment to slide through the arch, partially concealed by all the ivy and clinging vines that hung over it, and then hid behind the other side of the door to look around, thinking that even if I were shut out, the lad was bound to return at some point with another load, and I could nip back inside then.

Just behind the wall it was very overgrown and wild, speckled with old piles of mulch. The grass was nearly up to my waist, and it stretched away in gentle rolling slopes until it seemed to end, suddenly, silhouetted against a dark blue ribbon of sea. It must be a cliff's edge, although I didn't get the chance to investigate properly. I hope it isn't too steep, or else I'll have done all this for nothing. I don't fancy trying to scale down a cliff face in the middle of the night, moonlight or no.

I stood there for a moment, thinking what to do next and dazzled by the sight and sound of the water.The wind was briny and cool, and rippled the grasses in long waves. From somewhere below came the mingled cry of gulls and sandpipers…it was so lonely and wild and lovely. I could have just stood there for hours, but I knew I must use every minute.

To my left, the stone wall stretched in a lichen-covered gray barrier, thrice my height, broken by swathes of clinging green plant life and depressingly solid. However, about fifty yards down, another wall joined it at right angles, or at least, what was left of another wall, for it was crumbling and derelict, clearly far older. It made a corner and then stretched out toward the sea. I don't know what it is, for there's certainly no corresponding space on the inside of the gardens, but I was more interested in how its crumbling stonework provided ample hand and footholds for climbing, and quietly crept toward it, clinging to the wall at my back as much as possible. Presently I heard the boy wheel his cart back through the gate, and heard the door creak shut. Thus free from threat of discovery, I continued on with more ease.

When I got to the corner where the two walls joined, I found my expectations correct – the old wall was little more than a jumbled pile of stonework, barred on its inner side by an impenetrable tangle of vines. It made me more curious than ever about what was inside it, but I made myself attend to the matter at hand, and, kilting my skirts up, scrambled with little effort to the top of the stones. The corner had held up better than the rest, and I was able to make my way up to it, and peer over the top of the garden wall – carefully, for I saw instantly that my head would be in full view of the gardeners.

This settled one question. The reason I've been reluctant to attempt scaling the garden wall rather than using the gate was that I had no way of knowing if I could get back from the other side. Of course there's always the bedsheets-as-rope trick, but it's a difficult one to put into practice, since you can't stop them from getting smudged and torn and otherwise abused, which would no doubt be noticed, and besides it only works well if you tear the sheet into strips, which I'm sure would not go unremarked upon!

Anyway, now I only needed a way to scale the inside of the wall, in just this spot. I scanned the gardens from my heightened vantage point, hoping for inspiration, but to no avail. I'll have to find a way to get real rope. Meanwhile, I pulled the leather lacing out of one of my sandals, tied it to a bit of vine, and tied the other end to a pebble nicked from a crevice of the ruined wall. This I dangled over the top of the garden wall, making a note of the general area (behind the cabbages) so that I could find the same spot from the inside. I don't think anyone will notice it – a pebble swaying fifteen feet over one's head isn't much of an eye-catcher, but I'll know where to look.

I made my way back to the gate and waited for the cart-boy to come back, beginning to be anxious that I'd be late getting back in for weaving. It was still very hot, but the stone wall was cool, and I stayed pressed against it until the door creaked open again. I peered through the greenery until the lad had his back turned again, then darted through the gate and back into the garden. I only had time to splash cold water on my face and change my shoes back up in my rooms, before racing down to the weaving chambers, where Queen Teleria asked me if I felt feverish!

Now the problem of rope still remains. But I've prowled about the stables enough to know where such things are kept. If I can get past Morwen I'll have no trouble. Perhaps one of the stable-boys can be bribed.

I would have tried yesterday, but it was raining, another one of those lovely summer-afternoon storms, and I couldn't tear myself away from my chamber with all that sweet-smelling damp air blowing in at the casement. I actually leaned out into it until I was drenched, which was a mistake, for one can't imagine how horrible it is to peel off four fitted layers of wet clothing until one has done it. I had to send a servant for Eirliss to help me, and when she came she tutted and laughed, and spent the better part of an hour coming out my hair, which always curls up and tangles when it gets wet. But I got to sit it out in just my chemise, at any rate, and enjoyed it immensely until I had to dress to go back down for supper (no weaving yesterday – the damp air makes the yarn do tricksy things and nothing comes out right).

It was delicious, sitting there with my knees tucked up under my chin, watching the rain make a glittering silver curtain over the window, and listening to it drum steadily in a background accompaniment to Eirliss's soft humming as she combed my hair (it's also rather a pleasant experience having your hair combed by someone else, strangely enough). I nearly fell asleep…and the oddest thing happened. I wasn't _quite_ asleep, but I think I was dreaming, because suddenly it seemed to me that I was sitting on a low stool, looking out a window at the rain, but the window wasn't a tall castle casement – it was small, square, and high in the wall, and at its top edge I saw the rough edge of a straw-thatched roof. The hands that combed my hair were long and slender, not brown and work-roughened like Eirliss's, and they occasionally stroked my cheek as they worked. The voice that sang behind me came from higher up, and was deeper and richer than Eirliss's birdlike chirp. I looked down at myself, and though I was still sitting with my knees drawn up, the arms that encircled them were softer, rounder, with dimpled elbows and tiny _tiny_ hands that clasped each other, and the white gown I wore was rougher and simpler than the fine linen of Mona. I noticed that I wore my crescent pendant, and the chain was so long it dangled nearly to my waist. All this took only the merest moment – the space between heartbeats, between breaths – and I gasped, and jerked my head up, and there I was, sitting there in my chamber in Dinas Rhydnant, with the rain beating outside and Eirliss just laying her comb down on a little table at my elbow.

She noticed my start, and paused. "Are you all right, my lady?"

I stared at her, my heart thumping, and stammered out, "I…yes, fine, I just…nearly fell asleep, and was dreaming, I guess." I laughed a little. "It startled me, is all."

She was satisfied, but I'm sure it was more than a dream. It felt real…more real than any dream I've had. There was a _feeling_ to it - of warmth, and safety, and contentment – that could never come from any mere dream.

I think it was a memory. I wish I knew how to get back into it!

* * *

A/N: S'been a bit of a wait. Sorry about that. Life takes over. I'm not crazy about this chapter - too much doing, not enough thinking, which is hard for lazy people like me, but it must be done. The last "memory" section was more fun to my mind.

A few responses that I couldn't make personally:

Chris: I can't believe you're actually reading this! Hee...anyway, thanks for the vote of confidence, but I doubt anyone would ever confuse my writing with Alexander's. It's most flattering though. More likely some historian with a penchant for eccentrics will research this and discover that its author happily ended her days in a blissful delusion of being a Prydainian princess and was safely locked away.

Prydain fan: I do wish some good live action films would be made, but Iwouldn't personally want to see anyone from LotR in the roles, with the possible exception of Andy Serkis, since we wouldn't actually see his face, and I've no doubt he could do a smashing Gurgi. Although the _Rings_ castdid a great job, they've had their glory, and it would be great to see some less familiar faces bringing Prydain to life. People already compare the two series and claim Alexander was "ripping off" Tolkein - so it wouldn't be a great idea to cast the same actors in similar roles like Aragorn/Gwydion. But then, I doubt films will ever happen since Disney still owns all the rights, and after the disaster that was _The Black Cauldron_ they aren't going to touch them with a hundred-foot pole,so meanwhile we can all dream, and imagine them as whoever we like.

Angharad: Good to hear from you again. Glad you are continuing to follow...


	19. Herbal Memories

First of Elembiuos, full moon

I've a coil of rope hidden under my bed this very moment. If all goes well, tonight I'll be over the wall.

It turned out to be rather ridiculously easy to get it. I was out yesterday evening watching Morwen and the stablemen breaking in some new horses, and there were random lengths of broken rope lying everywhere – every time one broke, they would throw the ragged bits outside the pen. I began picking them up, ostensibly just to tidy up, which is what I would have said if anyone had noticed, but all the men were sufficiently distracted by a couple of very frisky young colts. When I had enough, I bundled them up the back stairs to my chamber, and tied all the loose ends together. It wound up being quite handy, as I would have needed knots for climbing anyhow. It's been a year or two now since I could climb a knotless rope hand-over-hand – I seemed to be so much stronger in proportion to my weight when I was a child! Why are so many things about growing up so inconvenient?

I daresay Queen Teleria would have said it was vulgar of me to be hanging about the horse-pens, particularly as the stablemen use such colorful expressions. Perhaps it's fortunate that I don't know what most of them mean – the temptation to try them out isn't so strong that way. Achren had a few choice phrases she used to fling at guards or consorts if they made her angry, but I never had a hankering to imitate her in anything, so I suppose I shouldn't start making a habit of it now, though it_ is_ tempting to imagine the looks on the faces of the court ladies!

Hot again today, and stuffy – so much so that I had a headache earlier. Eirliss came in with lavender oil and rubbed it on my temples, which helped a good deal. I shall have to tell Coll about that particular remedy; I'm sure he could add lavender to his herb collection. Besides, it smells lovely. Standing in the lavender patch in the gardens here is like being dropped in a bottle of perfume.

I actually impressed myself with all the herbs I recognized in the gardens – although certainly there are plenty here that Coll doesn't grow. But I didn't think I'd picked up so much. It makes me feel a bit smug, to be honest, perhaps only because I remember my ignorance of such things so vividly. Of course, any memory involving Taran is a vivid one.

It was early on, just after Taran and Fflewddur and I escaped from Spiral Castle. We'd been running for days from the cauldron-born before they finally had to turn back, and in the exertion, Taran's wound started bleeding again – he'd been nicked in the arm during his and Gwydion's fight with the cauldron-born at their capture. I had bandaged it rather badly in the dungeon, and when we stopped for a breather I noticed that it had seeped through. The bandage had been none-too-clean to begin with, being torn from the hem of my skirt, which wasn't exactly new.

"We ought to re-bandage that," I told him, pointing to his arm when he gave me a questioning look.

He touched the dirty bandage gingerly and frowned. "We haven't time to spare."

I had a feeling he just didn't want to admit it pained him, and scowled. "What we don't have time for is for you to fall ill. You're the great leader of this quest, after all." I didn't keep the sarcasm out of my voice, and noticed his jaw thrust forward irritably. It pleased me perversely – what a chit I was back then!

Fflewddur chimed in at that moment, glancing at Taran's arm and hissing through his teeth in concern. "I does look bad, my lad. It ought to be cleaned, at the very least. There are some linen rags in the saddlebags that would do for better bandaging, too. I could do it for you – I've long, practiced skill in such things, knowledge of medicinal herbs…" A twang interrupted him, muffled by the leather harp-case strapped to his back, and he cleared his throat. "That is, I've no stomach for blood outside of battle. Perhaps you'd better let the girl do it. We can spare a few moments."

We were both getting used to Fflewddur's loose tongue by then, but I started every time a harp string snapped. Taran still looked doubtful, and I prodded him one more time by adding sweetly, "Unless you're afraid it will hurt too much."

His ears reddened and he turned away without looking at me, growling, "Fine. Be quick about it then."

Fflewddur handed me the linens with a smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth, and I dragged Taran to a nearby stream, ordering him to sit. It was a nasty job pulling off the old bandage and I bit my lip when I saw him wince. I'd already ripped off what was left of his shirt sleeve back in the dungeon, but its tattered edges were stiff with dried blood, and I cut those off a bit more neatly with the dagger I had nicked from a fallen guard.

The cut wasn't terribly deep, but it was ragged, and it had never been cleaned properly. I made him wash it while I tore the linen into smaller strips, noting how his lips tightened and paled at the touch of the cold water.

"Hurt much?" I asked, sympathetically. He grunted. "Not much."

Liar. My heart suddenly seemed to expand as a wave of admiration stole my breath. I examined the emotion for a moment, astonished, staring at him. He glanced past me vaguely and then his eyes focused sharply on something behind me, and he exclaimed, "Hallo! Ninehooks!"

Nonplussed, I followed his gaze, looking over my shoulder. I saw nothing out of the ordinary – just clumps of green foliage waving gently on the streambank. "What?"

"Ninehooks," he repeated, and then, impatient at my bewilderment, pointed. "That plant there, the fuzzy one with the yellow flowers."

I wondered if he'd lost his mind. "Well, what about it?"

He looked at me in genuine surprise. "It's good for poultices. We've no time to make one, but pick some of it and stick it in the bandage. It'll help it heal faster."

I was thoroughly entranced. Not by this miraculous Ninehooks, but at his knowledge of it. "How do you know that?" I blurted, my hands frozen in the pile of linen strips in my lap.

His expression became bemused, quizzical. "It's just herb-lore." His tone clearly said it was such common knowledge that my ignorance of it was amazing.

I'd been feeling a bit superior to him up until that point, but now my pride fizzled out like a spark on the wind. "Oh," I muttered, admiration struggling with annoyance. It vexed me, somehow, that he knew something I didn't. I remembered, with a stab of guilty humiliation, my asking him earlier whether he was slow-witted, and stating blandly that it must be terrible to be dull and stupid, and I wondered whether he remembered it, fully expecting him to cast it up to me now.

Horrid of me, I know, but I was judging him with the measure I was used to at the time. Overlooking an offense wasn't something that occurred in Achren's domain, which was all I was familiar with. The internal struggle kept my mouth shut while I re-bandaged his arm, tucking sprigs of the precious Ninehooks into the linen. He was silent during the procedure, probably from feeling awkward but I thought it was because he was thinking ill of me. So it nearly knocked me over when he examined the new bandage, looked me squarely in the eye, and…

"Thank you," he said, flushing a little. "You were right. It does feel better."

It was the sort of thing I longed for him to say, and yet the last thing I had prepared a response for. I stared at him dumbly, opening and closing my mouth a few times like a fish out of water, and felt my face grow hot from cheek to brow. I could not have been more pleased, or more completely flummoxed, if he'd leaned over and kissed me…a thought which actually flitted, along with a dozen other incoherencies, through my mind in a single heartbeat. I fought them all down, dazed and a little out-of-patience with myself. But I couldn't stop the grin that spread across my face. "Taran of Caer Dallben," I said, getting up, "that's the second polite thing you've said to me." And I turned on my heel and left him sitting there, smiling to myself like a silly idiot.

I'm smiling the same way now, just remembering it.

* * *

A/N: Hooray for puppy love memories.

Welcome new readers and welcome back old! You all light up my life! insert cheesy smile here

Prydain-fan: I don't see Doli as being a Tolkein-type of dwarf, but you'll have to argue it out with friends of mine who say John R-D was born to play King Smoit. They're up against other friends who think Brian Blessed is the man for that job. I remain comfortably neutral. The only actor who has ever struck me for a Prydain nod is Paul Bettany for Fflewddur. He's the guy who played Chaucer in _A Knight's Tale_ - um, except leave out the mental image of the whole walking-naked-down-the-road scene and instead think of his overblown, exaggerated introductions during the tournaments.


	20. Free At Last

Second of Elembiuos, darktime

How utterly ridiculous of me to forget that I'd need something to fasten my rope _to_, either on top of or on the other side of that garden wall! I was so excited at the thought of temporary escape that such a small and unfortunately crucial detail completely slipped my mind. I must be quite as scatterbrained as Taran used to call me.

I _did_ go out last night, cloaked and hooded, with my rope coiled under my cloak, and made it all the way to the garden wall, although the brightness of the moonlight gave me a bit of trouble. Anyone could have seen me, but happily the gardens remain rather laxly guarded. I found my dangling pebble without any fuss, and then stood there with my rope in hand, suddenly wondering what to do and feeling like the biggest fool since the birth of the world. I was so vexed with myself I nearly cried.

Of course just standing there sulking didn't do any good, so I crept back through the gardens and decided to have a look through the sheds – there's a long row of them, just low huts with thatched roofs along the western wall, where all the tools are kept. I thought perhaps I might find a digging fork or plow-blade I could use as a claw for my rope, so I crept in and lit my bauble – it was a risk, but, I thought, a lesser one than tripping over a pile of rakes or hoes and taking it all down with a crash, likely landing on the business end of a pitchfork for all my trouble.

The fates smiled. In the second shed in the row, I was just about to leave when a shape over my head caught my eye – a ladder, hung on hooks from the rafters.

Getting it down was a sticky business, as it was dastardly heavy. I managed somehow, and was very hot and cross by the end of it. I fully expected to trigger some alarm as I carried it across the gardens to the wall, but it's clear the royal family of Mona really fears no attack from this quarter – plainly, no one is watching the gardens.

It came within three feet or so of the top of the wall – good enough for me, although it made me a bit queasy to stand on the top rung so I could pull myself over. Ladders always jiggle so at the top, like you're standing on pudding.

The other side of the wall is so overgrown with great vines and things, I was able to find a place to tie the rope off, and, to test it, I slid down it on the garden side instead of going down the ladder. It held. Feverishly impatient now, I carried the ladder back to the shed – wouldn't do to leave it leaning against the wall, in case anyone _did_ look!

I knew I'd only have one try to get up that rope – if I couldn't make it the first time, I'd be too worn out for another go. So I took off my cloak and my overdress to make myself lighter, rolled them up and hid them in a clump of rosemary, and went after it.

Belin, how I miss the days when I could shimmy up a rope or tree with no more trouble than a squirrel! They ended a year or so after I came to Caer Dallben. I suppose before then I'd eaten so poorly that my arms, thin as they were, were equal to the task of lifting the rest of me. But I filled out so much in that one year that the next spring when I tried to get into my favorite apple tree, I found it nearly impossible. When I complained to Coll, he winked and said it was why women didn't climb trees. I suppose he means all the extra curves makes it too awkward, and it's no use trying to prove him wrong. It _is_ awkward. If I hadn't come off of four years of farm labor, I'd never have made it up that wall.

But make it I did, with a few bruises and a skinned knee to show for it. I pulled up the rope and coiled it on top of the wall, then picked my way down the ruined stone on the other side.

Freedom!

I had to stop for a moment just to breathe it in. The sea-grass stretched before me in silver-gilt waves, each blade with its own sharp moon-shadow, the fresh-hay scent of them mingling with the salty taste of the water beyond. The surf grumbled somewhere below me and the cool air lifted the straggling strands of hair that had escaped from my braid during all my exertions. I felt my own heartbeat quicken; my fingertips tingled; I took a deep breath and plunged forward into the waving ribbon grasses.

As I'd thought, the highland ends rather abruptly, but the cliffs down to the water are rugged and scarred, with plenty of ledges and holes for scrambling down. Their feet end in little puddles and plateaus of silver sand speckled with dark tidepools. The water was glassy and lace-edged on the sand, calm and serene at low tide, the surf glowing a bit where each wave broke into a million foam-spiderwebs. It was sheer magic.

I shed my shoes and the rest of my clothes and ran out into the water. It was bitingly, blissfully cold.

To swim alone in a vast ocean with only the full moon as a companion, only the surf for music, only the stars and the great endless night overhead! Can anything be more intoxicating? How I pity folks who can't swim.

Now I think of it, I don't remember learning to swim, myself. It seems to be something I've always known, although certainly I didn't make use of it for quite some time. Spiral Castle hadn't a moat, and I'm sure I wouldn't have wanted to swim in any moat of Achren's even if it had. No doubt she'd have filled it with nasty things.

One of the first things I did at Caer Dallben, as a matter of fact, was plunge into the pool that lay off in the woods to the west of the fields. It was one of my favorite haunts – a cold clear basin at the base of a little waterfall, where the water lingered awhile before continuing on into the creek bed that ran right past the house and through the barnyard. It wasn't enormous, but it was deep enough to submerge yourself. I taught Taran to swim there – I couldn't believe it when he admitted he couldn't. He told me about the time he'd almost drowned while crossing a river with Gwydion, and then there was that horrible time Ellidyr pushed him into the river and Fflewddur had to pump him like a bellows to get the water out of him, although to be fair he did hit his head.

I determined he should know how to keep his head above the water at least. He learned how to stay afloat quite easily once he was convinced he wouldn't sink like a stone the moment his feet left the bottom. We used to run there in the afternoons in the summer after a day in the fields, spend an hour or so splashing and diving off the waterfall rocks, and come back in dripping underclothes and with Gurgi sopping wet and smelling for all the world like wet hound. It was always so funny to watch Gurgi swim – he would try to bite the water, and sneezed constantly while he paddled.

It's rather hideous to swim in your clothes, though. They stick so. There were a few nights I snuck out by myself to bathe properly, but that was risky business, although not so much as it is here. When I think of what the Queen and all the ladies would say if it was known I was out swimming naked at midnight! Dear me, wouldn't Aeronwen have enough to keep her occupied for weeks.

I don't know how long I stayed out – perhaps an hour. I should gladly have spent the whole night, but I must get _some_ sleep, and I didn't know how long the tide would be out, either.

I sat on a rock for awhile until I was dry, and while I was dressing a seal barked near me, so loud I almost jumped out of my skin. When I stood up I could see a handful of them, rolling and sleeping on a gentle slope of sand a few yards away, partially hidden from me by a broken chain of rock. They must have swum up while I was bathing and I never noticed. If they knew I was there, I certainly didn't seem to alarm them. It made me laugh to watch them, hunching themselves along. Seals are such beautiful things in the water, but on land they always strike me as looking like giant whiskered slugs.

I made it back to the wall and re-tied the leather thong from my sandal to the rope itself, and after climbing down inside the garden, I tossed the rope back over the wall, holding on to the thong. It took a few tosses to get the rope concealed enough, and then the weight of it wanted to pull over the thong, too, of course. I wedged the pebble into a crevice in the wall and that seemed to do the trick. When I go out again, I only need to find the pebble, give the thong a tug, and down comes the rope. I think. These things always seem to work better as ideas than in practice.

I must get on to weaving. Funny how everything seems less onerous today after all the fun of yestereve!

* * *

I seem to have picked up a few more readers, so welcome, all. And I've decided I like doing personal replies here, so I'll continue to do them unless I get personally warned or see some official documentation that it's not appropriate. 

I'm also glad to see the Prydain/Lloyd Alexander section has added a few more titles. Let's keep up that trend.

Eloise82: No more teasing, although this chapter is perhaps anticlimactic. I'm glad I seem to be accomplishing the goal of portraying her growing maturity. And yes, ninehooks is the vernacular name for...lady's mantle, I think (it's been a few months since I wrote that!), which is a medicinal herb used in poultices.

Lady Belegwen: Thanks for the continued patronage. I liked playing with the whole scent/memory trigger.

P.I.D: Sorry for all the waiting between chapters. Blame the hot weather (or something).

Nightwing6: You thrill me with your perception of such details. The harp-case, etc. I love to consider the practicalities of costume and prop, probably because of my undying wish to see good films made of these books. This was also what inspired me to think seriously about the shaping of Eilonwy's character, which you also picked up on: I kept wondering how, as a director, I would cast a character like her - it would be too easy to cast some stereotypical attitude-laden teenage girl, who would just make her into an annoying brat. For her to be interesting (to Taran, let alone the rest of us), there's got to be something deeper to her than that, some underlying vulnerability that all her bravadoexists to shield. That's what I'm trying to portray, anyhow. As always, love your reviews.

Prydainfan: You mean the thought of smoochies never crossed your mind at thirteen? I envy that level of innocence. But don't worry, when I say no fluff, I mean no fluff. I'm going by canon, in which there's no indication of physical affectionat this point(actually Alexander doesn't really give us ANY indication of it throughout - which is my only gripe with him!). I'm thinking I might play on an insinuation later on...but I'll cross that proverbial bridge when I get there.

MagicalMischiefMakersInc: Hey, if you're sad at the lack of Prydain fics, you could always add to the stack! I probably won't be going any further with Gwydion/Achren, but keep goading the author of _Black Shadow/Golden Sun_ for more on that. She's slightly less sporadic about updates than I.

SilkenPetal: Thanks, I love it too. The word "giggly" makes me feel like a naughty twelve-year-old, though. If I gave in to that side of my mind, I'd be writing _nothing_ but Taran flashbacks, and I'm trying to make this fic more than that! God help the romantic sops of this world...

ladyofthebookworms:Thanks for your perseverance. I know what it's like to read on the computer until your eyes feel like burnt holes in a blanket. I'll try to include that catchphrase if the inspiration hits, although it's rather difficult since of course he's not around to annoy her at the moment.

FanFictionFantom: It's not over! I adore Fflewddur, and he does seem ripe with fic possibilities. I'll try to work him into this fic some more; thanks for giving me the idea.

redphoenix: That is, after all, why this site created the "story alert" function...:o) Glad you stumbled back in; hope you continue to enjoy.


	21. Exposed

Fourth of Elembious, darktime

Just when I think things are going smoothly, fate intervenes. It seems I'm destined to ruffle feathers continuously while I'm here – or have my own ruffled, as the case may be.

Eirliss has gone home to help her older sister, who is expecting a baby any day now. In her place I'm being served by a maid named Mabonwy, who also serves Aeronwen. Dreadful luck! I know she spies and brings back her observations to Aeronwen, so I haven't gone out again since that first night. I've had a horrible time finding where to hide this book, since she's likely to rifle through my things. I had thought at first of sticking it inside my mattress, and remembered at the last moment what a horrible messy business goose down is. I'd have left my chamber looking like an indoor snowstorm. Finally I decided the best way to hide it was to camouflage it, and stuck it on the shelf with all the books on law and history that I'm supposed to be reading for my lessons with the Queen.

I would have put it under the mattress, thoughtlessly, except the first thing that Mabonwy discovered yesterday was my set of boy's clothes I'd bought from that stable-lad. Of course she claims she was only making the bed, but Eirliss made it every day without managing to stumble upon them, so I know Mabonwy was actively looking for something to squeal about. She found them while I was at breakfast and went straight to the Queen, who called me on it during our daily lesson.

The moment I entered the chamber, her Majesty greeted me with a perplexed frown and held up the garments in question, her little finger curling back in distaste. "What," she demanded, "are these?"

I recognized them instantly, and flushed – in fury more than anything, but I daresay to the Queen it looked like guilt. I spoke to her through clenched teeth. "Clothing."

"I can see that," she said tartly. "What were they doing in your chamber?"

I toyed with telling her I'd been undressing stable-boys in my room, and thought better of it. Queen Teleria has no sense of humor when she is vexed, and her tone at the moment suggested she thought I'd be capable of it.

"I bought them from one of the stablehands," I muttered, scowling. "I wear them when I go out in the mornings."

A faint look of relief flitted over her face, replaced quickly by a more familiar stern expression, tight of lip and heavy of brow. "Out?"she queried. "Where do you go?"

"Only to the kennels and the dog runs. Sometimes the stables. I like to visit the animals," I explained, "and I should hate to muck about down there in my gowns. They'd be ruined." I knew she couldn't argue with this sort of practicality. No need to tell her about the way I roughhouse about with the dogs.

She dropped the ragged garments and sat back in her chair, wearily passing a hand over her brow. "Child," she sighed, "Will there never be an end to your shenanigans? You had only to ask for appropriate clothing and it would have been provided."

I knew what her version of appropriate clothing would be – and it's been added to my wardrobe, now: all raw linen and coarse wool, and still three layers of skirts. The last thing I wanted, but, as usual, nobody asked me.

"I didn't want appropriate clothing," I snapped. "But I suppose now I'm to have it, in addition to spying chambermaids."

"It is unfortunate," Queen Teleria admitted, pursing her lips. "I ordered Mabonwy to speak of it to no one, on pain of discharge. What can you have been thinking? Do you realize – don't fiddle with your hair -- how it looks to have a man's clothing hidden under your bed?"

I had been twisting my braid in frustration and I tossed it over my shoulder at her order. There was nothing to say. I confess it does look badly, although I'd never thought of it before. And I don't trust Mabonwy to keep her mouth shut about it; the temptation to blab to Aeronwen will be irresistible -- perhaps even worth losing her position. Nevertheless, at the moment I was still too angry at her sneaking to feel at all convicted over my foolishness.

Peeved with my stubborn silence, the Queen rose abruptly from her seat and paced across the floor. "I can see you are displeased with Mabonwy," she said, "but she did precisely what she should. It had been in my mind to find you someone else, but on second thought I believe she will be useful in keeping your behavior under control."

Belin! It was terrible. I stood there, feeling like I was being tied to a stake. I'd have screamed aloud if it would have done any good. I wanted to, anyhow, but simply glared at her, seething. The Queen gave me a cool, discerning look. "I am pleased to see you at least _attempting_ to control your temper just now, at any rate. I suggest you master the skill directly – beginning with taking that expression off your face. If you looked so at King Math – unclench your fists, you'll cut yourself – he'd have you beheaded on the spot."

This was so ridiculous that I felt my anger drain a little, and snorted. "Rubbish. King Math never beheaded anyone. Though I can think of a few _I'd_ like to."

"No doubt," the Queen replied, her blue eyes dancing. She seemed really to be enjoying getting the better of me. It was unbearable.

"Will I get Eirliss back when she returns?" I asked sulkily. Yes, I sulked! I admit it!

Her gaze was shrewd. "Perhaps, if I find the need to keep a close eye on you lessened. Eirliss is…malleable. And if you want her back – look me in the face, child – only so that you might manipulate her…"

"I want her back," I interrupted, growling, "because she suits me. With Mabonwy, I might as well be rooming with Aeronwen. You know they'll gossip about me…"

"See that you give them nothing to gossip about, then," the Queen responded brusquely. "Aeronwen will make it up if she must, I grant you, but it won't be the last time you have lies told about you. It is an affliction of all who govern, and it will give you the opportunity to practice your diplomacy. Now, I'll hear no more about it. And let me hear no more of you running about in," she shuddered, "boy's clothes."

I'm still mad enough to boil a toad. Every time Mabonwy comes into my chamber she smirks at me. It's all I can do while she's helping me dress not to dig my fingers into her hair and yank with all my might. Vicious sneaking wretch. But so far she seems to be taking the Queen's threat seriously, because Aeronwen has said nothing to me, and I've no doubt she'd say plenty if she knew.

Mae's been ill for two days – nothing serious, but she's stayed in bed – so I've not even been able to confide in her. Thank Llyr for this book! If I couldn't have written all this out I'm sure I would have lapsed into a screaming fit by now. It's a mercy there's nothing fragile in my room, because I'm not certain I could resist the temptation to hurl it at the wall at this moment, just for the satisfaction of hearing it smash. I'd do it with the inkwell if I didn't need it for writing.

I don't suppose it's real self-control when one's only reason for it is personal convenience!

* * *

Author's Notes:

Yes, I'm back! Thanks to all who sent their well-wishes, thoughts, and prayers. My husband has recovered wonderfully from his stroke and returned to work, and I am adjusting to life with baby - my son is now eight weeks old and a joy. It is a little harder now to find time for all my extra hobbies, but I've missed writing this so much I just had to pound out a chapter.

In lieu of personal comments this time around, I beg, plead, and cajole all of you to join us over on the Lloyd Alexander forum, which needs some livening up!


	22. Dreams and Visions

Fourteenth of Elembious, new moon

To think it's been over a sen'night since my last writing! This is what comes of spying chambermaids. I simply haven't dared to pull this book out any moment lest Mabonwy come barging in. She couldn't read it herself, of course, but I'm sure seeing me so diligent about something would grab her attention, and she'd be sure to tell Aeronwen and perhaps contrive to get this into her hands. And then…oh, I might as well throw a cat to a pack of starving dogs.

So now here I am writing by candlelight in the middle of the night, and may as well, since there's no comfort in sleep currently. Another nightmare – they always seem to accompany the new moon, I've noticed. As if _that_ didn't bring enough annoyance.

At least at Caer Dallben when I had a nightmare I could get up and _do_ something to get my mind off it, even if all I did was walk out to the privy. Thanks to the convenience of chamber pots I can't even do _that_, here, and wind up just sitting at the casement and brooding. But perhaps writing it out will help, and at least at present I'm not held to any time constraints beyond how many hours I can go without sleep.

I dreamt I was in my bedchamber at Caer Colur – calling it mine seems a bit strange, but then I suppose everything there was mine, really – lying on the bed, and I could hear footsteps coming down the corridor, and see the edge of the door framed in red light steadily growing brighter. I knew that Achren was coming for me, ready to drag me off to someplace dreadful and force me to do who-knows-what, and I wanted to spring out of bed and try to escape – whether to jump out the window, to charge out the door, or by some such desperate attempt. But I couldn't move at all, not the smallest twitch. It was like being frozen stiff, a prisoner in my own body. I couldn't scream – it seemed for a few moments that I couldn't even breathe. The footsteps halted, and the door latch moved, and my struggle grew so panicked that I woke up, gasping for air. I had a few seconds of relief as I realized it was only a dream, then looked around and saw that I was still in bed in Caer Colur, and the footsteps and the red light were coming for me once more.

It was one of those horrible, horrible dreams where you keep dreaming that you've woken up, when in fact you are still stuck in the dream, which keeps repeating itself over and over. Perhaps it's because you actually _are_ in bed that it feels so real. The last repetition had the door actually creaking open, with Achren standing there all black against the light, and some dark hulking creature next to her came bounding into my chamber and landed on my chest, spidery claws scrabbling for my throat._ That_ was enough to finally wake me up all the way, although I didn't dare to believe it for a few minutes and just lay there cold and shivering, expecting any moment to hear those footsteps approaching. But looking around and seeing that I was in my familiar chamber on Mona reassured me enough to crawl out of bed and pace up and down the room a few times.

Ugh. Horrid. I'm still all in goose-flesh thinking of it. I wonder shall I have to put up with these awful dreams for the rest of my life. Wouldn't I love to smite Achren in some way for causing them!

I'm sure it's her doing. I don't know anyone else who dreams such things with this kind of regularity. The occasional nightmares, yes, but not the same recurring themes at specific times. Even Dallben seemed to find them significant when I told him about them, although they didn't stop him from sending me away. But even enchanters don't know everything.

I wish I could get her face out of my head. On nights like this I always seem to see it when I shut my eyes – that cold, bladelike smile and those stone-grey glittering eyes. I'll never forget the sight of her peering down at me when Magg landed his boat on the island – never forget feeling that first shock of terrified dismay that she should still be alive, the sinking realization that she was behind all that had happened that day. I was so stunned I could not have said a word, even if I hadn't been gagged.

And she was so sickeningly sweet. After Magg cut my hands free, Achren held out her hand to help me out of the boat, and I could do nothing but take it, much as I shrank from touching her. Her hands were cold as ice, as flint-hard as I remembered. Her long red nails left little pink half-moon marks on my wrist.

"Welcome, Princess," she said, in that odd throaty purr she uses when she's being charming, which I've always found a little nauseating. She looked me up and down with calculated approval. "You've grown well since last we met. You do honor to your ancestors and your house." Her white hand tipped my chin up and tilted my face to the moonlight. "Beautiful," she murmured.

Compliments from Achren are like drinks laced with poison. I pulled away, anger welling up to displace fear. "It's no concern of yours if I am," I snapped. My voice was raw from long disuse after all the screaming that morning, and only one drink of water meantime. I sounded weak and that made me angrier.

Her brows tightened in a familiar way that said to tread lightly, but I've never been good at pacifying Achren and I wasn't about to learn at that moment. I scowled.

"Your manners have not improved, I see," she remarked, with a little less sweetness.

"I learnt them by example," I said pointedly.

Her eyes sparked for a moment, but she ignored this. I had thought it would earn me a boxed ear at the least, so I watched curiously while she turned to Magg, who was standing behind her and glaring at me as a man might glare at a colt he looks forward to breaking.

"You have done well," she told him. "Go in and make ready for the rites."

He bowed several times, gibbering a lot of obsequious rubbish, and scuttled away. Watching him go, I noticed my surroundings for the first time; a rocky coast, black against the silver water, ringed by a crumbling seawall. A worn, crooked road of shattered cobblestone led inland and disappeared into mist, flanked by an occasional upright pillar worn smooth by wind and surf. Many more of these lay on the ground in pieces. Ahead, out of the mist, rose the black ruins of a castle, jagged remnants of towers stabbing at the shredded rags of cloud overhead.

I felt my scalp crinkle as though under a cold rain, my pulse quickening until my hands tingled. The scene was stark and bleak and barren, and yet…I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. Neither could I identify what it was I felt – it was like fear, and yet there was longing in it. I was fascinated.

Over the rumble of the surf there grew a sound, soft at first, like the whisper of leaves in the wind, but there were no trees and no wind. It was faint and hollow, an echo of an echo, a chorus of thin pale bodiless voices that spoke all at once, too many and quickly to make out the words. It was a mournful, melancholy sound, like ghosts long forgotten and yet feverishly restless. It swept around me, seemed to pluck hungrily at my clothes and hair; then it was gone, leaving me trembling and, of all things, blinking back tears.

Achren appeared at my side and I realized she was watching me intently, as though searching or waiting for something. Fear returned – fear of her, of this place, of my own reaction to it, of what it all meant.

I had to catch my breath to speak. "You…why have you brought me here? What is this place?"

Her thin brows arced upward in mock surprise. "I did not think I would have to explain it. Legend holds that the children of Llyr will know their home on sight."

Llyr. I gazed in disbelief at the ruin, wanting it to be a lie and yet knowing somehow that she spoke the truth. The voices rose up again, urging, aching with sadness, whispering words I could not understand. My breath came so hard that my head grew light, and the scene before me wavered, as though seen through water. And then – for only an instant – I saw the castle whole and strong, its towers gleaming white against blue sky, pennants snapping at their spires, and the road before me snaking up like a ribbon of silver against green land, pillared on either side in white stone. A surge of joy and recognition shot through me like an arrow…and then the vision was gone, faster than a bolt of lightning, leaving me reeling. The world went black and I almost fell, but Achren was standing behind me and she caught me by the shoulders. Her fingers gripped like vices, as though she wanted to squeeze something out of me by sheer force.

"You saw it," she whispered in my ear, a hiss full of malicious eagerness.

I could not deny it – I was still too stunned and confused, and could only gasp out a yes.

She pushed me toward the road, gently, her voice still low, soft…seductive, almost. I didn't want to listen but I could not block her out. "It can be so again. All the beauty and glory of your house restored. It lies within your grasp. Indeed you are the only one who can make it so."

I was actually lulled into taking a few steps. I don't know what sort of madness it is Achren weaves – she never taught me that particular craft – but even so I don't know whether it was her words or my own desire to see that vision again that was chipping away at my will. But she grew too eager; her gentleness gave way to impatience, and at the tightened grip on my arm I came to myself and stubbornly dug in my feet.

"You kidnapped me in order to restore the glory of Llyr?" I pulled away from her, clutching my cloak about me protectively. "How very commendable. As believable as a fish with wings."

Fury passed swiftly over her face, replaced by an admirable placidity. "You speak as though this were not always my intention with regard to you," she protested innocently. "Did I not strive to teach you the arts you would need in order to fulfill your heritage? Who else would have done so?" She gestured toward the misty ruin. "You cannot do it without my help. It was necessary to remove you from those who, for mistrust in me, would deny your destiny."

I was beginning to feel sick and dizzy, from something in her words or from the stresses of the day I don't know, but it made it difficult to argue with her. I could think of nothing but desperate threats. "They'll come for me, you know. They are already on our trail. Taran will…"

Achren cut me off with a gentle, mocking laugh. "Taran? Oh, yes, that pig-boy with whom you ran away. You don't know how it disappointed me. I _had_ thought I taught you more discernment in your choice of companions."

I daresay she knew how furious this made me, but I would not give her the satisfaction of showing it, and said nothing. Her eyes glittered as she continued, "He's come with you, has he? Dallben's little chore-boy aspires high. I shall show him his proper place in time." She advanced toward me and my dizziness grew; I crept backward until my back was against the seawall. Her gaze was triumphant, but she continued to speak gently. "You need not fear for him or any of your friends. Once you are in your rightful place you will be in a position to be generous to them – if, indeed, you still desire it."

I was leaning weakly against the wall, trying not to be sick, which was easy enough seeing as I hadn't eaten that day. Suddenly she seemed to grow tired of the game, and, siezing me by the wrist with a brisk, "come," began pulling me up the path. I was in no shape to resist. Some part of me didn't even want to resist – for in spite of all reason I _wanted_ to go up to the castle, to see the ruins up close, to touch the walls and walk through the corridors and hear my own voice echoing in its halls. And I desperately wanted another vision of what it had been, a desire which only grew the closer we got to its gates. As we moved between the gatehouses the murmuring voices rose again in my ears, and a swift sudden current of cold air sighed through the courtyard like a dying breath.

When we arrived at the entrance to the keep, Magg met us at the doors – or rather the empty hole where the doors should have been, for they seemed to have rotted away long ago, leaving only charred and blackened splinters attached to the iron hinges. Achren pulled me in and I stumbled into one of the doorposts, intending to lean against the cold stone until my dizziness passed. The moment I touched the stone I felt a tingling jolt, like the sparks that pop from a wool cloak on a winter day. The darkness inside the keep wavered; a flash of light and color exploded before my eyes. I saw bright banners hanging from the rafters, shields lined against the walls, glowing in shafts of light slanting from high windows. The floor was smooth white stone inlaid with mother-of-pearl and abalone, its central aisle to the dais carpeted with sea-blue tapestry embroidered in silver. I heard music, laughter, snatches of conversation; saw faint images of people, richly dressed, moving to and fro, in and out of the patches of light. It all happened much faster than the time it takes to describe it; a breath and it was gone, and I came to myself sitting on the floor, my back to the doorpost, the only light a guttering torch fixed to a nearby column. My head was fuzzy, as though waking up from a dream. I heard Magg and Achren speaking to one another in low conspiratorial tones.

"Very well," Achren said suddenly, turning to me. She seemed surprised to find me on the ground, and reached for my hand to pull me to my feet. "Get up, child. We need light. Bring out your bauble."

I swayed dizzily and clung to the doorpost, and for a moment could not make sense of what she said. "My bauble…" I repeated stupidly.

Achren seemed ready to dance with impatience. "Don't play ignorant. Bring it out at once and light it."

Her impatience intrigued me and woke me up all the way, and I remembered with a sudden flush of anger what had happened to my bauble. But I was glad I had at least one way of thwarting her, so it wasn't without a certain vindictive satisfaction that I said, "I can't. I lost it – when that creature pulled me into his wretched boat."

Her face went whiter than I would have thought possible, her eyes wide and flashing. Her hand closed convulsively on my arm. "You lie," she said, straining her voice through clenched teeth.

I jerked away, scowling. "If he hadn't gagged me I could have asked for it. Perhaps you should choose someone more competent next time."

Magg was quivering between fury and fear as she turned on him. He pushed past her to me and began pawing at me in a vain search. "She lies. She must have it…she's never without it…" I twisted away from him, shoving his hands away and snarling. Achren gripped him by the collar of his tunic and shoved him aside. She shook out my cloak, found the pouch where I normally carry my bauble, and saw instantly that it was empty. Her lips drew back in rage and she turned and grabbed Magg by his shoulders. I could see the whites all round his eyes as he looked at her face. It was pathetic to see a grown man so terrified, but I can't say I didn't enjoy it on some level.

She shook him as though he were a disobedient dog and raged, "You witless fool! I told you to take extra care of the Peladryn. We can do nothing without it."

He stammered and gibbered incoherently as she raged at him. I was feeling ill again and took a few stumbling steps into the darkness of the hall, thinking that perhaps while they were occupied I could find a weapon or way of escape. But the further in I went, the dizzier I became, and the voices returned, louder this time, and frantic. I tripped over a loose flagstone and fell, and could not get enough balance to get back up. The room seemed to spin and rock, and again the darkness faded, this time to an altogether different scene.

The great hall was in chaos. Flashes of sickly-colored light accompanied the sound of masonry crashing around me. Acrid smoke rose in clouds and stung my throat. Men shouted and women screamed, and the stone under my hands was slippery with blood. Over all the other noise rang the voice of a woman, shouting words in a strange tongue. I followed the sound, and through the smoky haze saw a tall figure on the dais, its arms upraised, gesturing in the air. Another voice cut across the first, ugly and discordant and strangely familiar, and I turned toward it and nearly screamed in horror.

It was Achren…Achren as I had never seen her; her hair jet black, an aura of scarlet and gold swirling around her like flame. Her hands and face streamed with blood; whether it were her own was impossible to tell. She shouted things unintelligible and hideous; the colors around her pulsed and writhed. The other voice shrieked something and Achren reeled as if struck; the whole room seemed to heave and quake, and flagstones shattered around me.

It wasn't a brief heartbeat like the others; I wanted it to end and it wouldn't, until I forgot altogether that it wasn't real. I could feel myself screaming although I couldn't hear it above all the other noise. And then, finally, it changed…I can't describe how, because it made no sense…but it seemed when I looked at Achren that she was both the vision and the reality – or maybe I was seeing them both at the same time – and I was suddenly filled with such utter revulsion and rage that the sheer force of it bore me up. I flung myself at her, clawing for her eyes, for her throat. I wanted to smite her, kill her, rip her limb from limb. It frightens me now to remember how it felt.

The vision fell away and the real Achren was before me, struggling to catch at my hands, still shouting in a strange tongue words that seemed to wind around me like a spider's web, tightening by the second. I was out of my mind with rage and grief; I think I had seen more than she had intended, because for a few moments there was real fear in her face. But she held my wrists in a shackle-like grasp, and all too soon I was weak again, sobbing with fear and anger. I could not fight her. I couldn't breathe; I couldn't even think. Her words went on, twisting into my mind and muddying it. The last thing I remember was seeing the torchlight fade to a flickering orange ball, and wondering why the sun looked so small and whether it was dying.

Belin! I can't believe I've written so much. Goodness knows how long I've been up. Likely it'll be dawn soon and I'll be sorry I didn't try to get more sleep – but of course I can always sleep during the rest hours, since I can't write during them anymore. And it _has_ felt relieving somehow. Perhaps if I write all my nightmares out here they'll stop haunting my sleep. I shall have to make a habit of it. Won't that make for light pleasant reading in my dotage! What stories I shall be able to tell my grandchildren.

* * *

_New chapter, omg! I know. You can all stop jumping up and down. I hope its length and intensity make up for the delay, and that I haven't lost all my loyal readers meantime. My gratitude to all of you who have continued to check for updates all this while, and just to let you all know, my whole family is doing very well.  
_

_For those of you who don't spend a ridiculous amount of time (like I do) poking around on this site, let me inform you of the astonishing way the Lloyd Alexander section has exploded in popularity and invite you to enjoy the astonishing array of excellent fic that now exists. I myself have written two Prydain one-shots which you can access from my profile page, and there are several other authors who have been quite prolific. I especially recommend anything by adaon45 and PrydainViolet, with whom I've had a delightful time on our author's forum (you can find it by clicking on "my forums" on my profile page, and I invite all of you to the forum as well, particularly if you have any burning questions about this story, as I from now on I will refrain from making personal comments to reviewers in favor of conversing in greater depth over there).  
_


	23. Gossip for Supper

Sixteenth of Elembious, lighttime

No more nightmares, at least not this month, I hope. But I'm up in the middle of the night once more. It's such a convenient time to write – no one coming in and telling me it's time for weaving or that I'm late for supper. And I no longer go down to the kennels and stables since all I have for it are those horrid clothes the queen insisted on, so there's no reason for me to wake up early.

Mae and I had supper together in my room tonight – so much more fun than sitting with everyone else in the great hall trying to remember whether it's rude to eat mushrooms with your fingers or some such silliness. I didn't think the queen would grant me the privilege but she seemed to think little enough of it. There was a message from Rhun today so she and the king were in jolly moods, and I thought it would be a good time to ask.

The message came this morning by a fisherman from one of the villages in the north, and the queen read it aloud to all of us in the east tower while we sat at embroidery. Mae and I were by our usual window when the queen bustled in all flushed and glowing with maternal pride to announce they'd heard news of him, and Mae gasped and looked up quickly, then blushed and looked back down at her needlework. She cast a quick glance and sheepish smile at me; I nudged her foot with mine conspiratorially. I plan to find a way to turn Rhun's attention toward her by any means, although I admit it would serve my own convenience as well as it would her happiness. I may really be quite a selfish beast at heart.

The epistle was Rhun all over – full of eager descriptions of the places and people he'd seen, although it seems they were common enough – coastal villages crammed with fisherfolk, country pastures crammed with sheep. He wrote about them as though he were the first person ever to set eyes upon such wonders. He went on at some length about a seawall he's going to build, and his cheerful optimism about the ease with which he anticipates doing it was touchingly endearing.

He ended it by sending his love to his parents and his affectionate regards to me, an inclusion that made me uncomfortable, particularly with Mae sitting next to me blushing like a ripe apple. And of course everyone in the room looked at me. Aeronwen whispered something to her girls and they all giggled. Several of the ladies exchanged disapproving glances. I tried to look placidly unconcerned.

Mae and I talked it over while she was here – after our meal was set up I sent the servers away and said I'd call them when we were done. She'd been downcast over that phrase in his message, convinced it was a sign that Rhun is really violently in love with me, but I pointed out that he _had_ to mention me to please his parents and because I was a guest. This seemed to reassure her a little, and we had a wonderful time the rest of the evening.

We chattered and giggled for hours, most of it at a level of nonsense and silliness I didn't know I was capable of. Anyone listening in would have thought we were drunk. I can't even remember most of it, and very likely written out it wouldn't look nearly so funny as it seemed to be at the time.

For instance, Mae did the most killing impressions of everyone here. She carried on a conversation between Indeg, Fionna, and Bronwen – three of the creakily ancient ladies who seem to permanently inhabit the sewing room – portraying each of them in turn, with all their eccentricities and modes of speech intact. She didn't even have to tell me who they were – I knew Indeg by the lisp, Fionna by the squint, and Bronwen by her way of saying, "aaaaahhhh," and licking her lips before every sentence. I laughed until I cried, but there is simply no way to adequately describe the hilarity of such a brilliant performance.

One conversation I do remember, however. We'd been talking about…oh, I hate to admit it, but I must…young men, and she was fretting about how blind Rhun is to her adoration. I made some comment about all men being blind to the subtleties of feminine communication of any kind, and mentioned how I often wanted to shake Taran for failing to grasp my meaning.

Her gaze became shrewd. She leaned toward me, resting her elbows on the table and propping her chin in her hands. "You mention him very often," she observed suggestively.

My face grew hot. Though I'm devotedly fond of Mae, we've never been in a private enough circumstance for me to want to speak about Taran to her the way I used to do to Eirliss. So although she's heard of him in connection with my history and various adventures, I'd never mentioned anything about being romantically inclined.

Her eyes widened in delight. "Is that a blush?" she demanded triumphantly. "Come, dear heart, spill it out. You know _my_ secret; it's only fair."

"I don't know how secret it is," I grumbled, fiddling with my spoon, "the way rumors fly in this place. I probably can't tell you much you haven't heard from someone else."

"I seriously doubt that," she said, with a smirk, "but if it'll interest you, I can tell you what I've heard."

This was intriguing and my face must have said so. Mae laughed, and began counting off on her fingers. "First of all, the word from most of the servants – the girls, anyway – is that he was devastatingly handsome. An exaggeration, surely, for Aeronwen is quoted as calling him coarse and common."

"Mph," I snorted, before I could help myself. "She was singing a different tune before I told her he was an assistant pig-keeper."

"I was coming to that," Mae continued gleefully. "There seems to be some confusion about his station. Some say he was a pig-keeper, others that he was a prince _disguised_ as a pig-keeper. A third story says he was a prince disguised as a shoemaker"-

"They're confusing him with Gwydion," I broke in, but she ignored me.

"-or a shoemaker disguised as a pig-keeper. But moving on. They say he kept as a companion a hideous hairy creature."

"That's Gurgi," I said. "He's hairy enough. I don't know about hideous, though I suppose he's startling if you've never seen him before."

"Strange company," said she. "Furthermore that he saved Rhun's life, or that Rhun saved his – it's confused on which. But the most interesting gossip is about the two of you, naturally. Some say you sniped at each other unceasingly and gave every indication of loathing one another. Others maintain you had a clandestine love affair going on the whole time, a rumor made even juicier by a testimony from some unknown chambermaid that he was seen leaving your room early in the morning on the day you disappeared."

I set my goblet down so abruptly it sloshed all over the table. "What?"

Her eyes sparkled at me wickedly. "You wanted to know."

I said something extremely unladylike and Mae howled. That particular tale must have sprung from his sleeping on the floor outside my door that night. I still want to throttle him for that.

"Now," Mae said briskly, "somewhere within this tangled web lies the truth, surely. So out with it. Who could possibly be so wonderful that for his sake you plan to refuse my cousin? Not that I'm complaining about that," she added, with a smile.

So I told her…well, not everything, but as much as she needed to know. How I met Taran, various adventures together, when I began to realize my feelings, and how coming to Mona had brought it all to a crisis of sorts. I finished with what happened at Caer Colur and an abridged version of our conversation on the shore of Mona afterwards. Mae was mildly dissatisfied and seemed to sense I was keeping something back.

"That's all?" she pouted, "A traded battle horn and some pledges of remembrance? Why, it's barely enough to dream on."

I grinned. "Sorry to disappoint. It's enough for me."

"Hmm," she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously, "I'd hoped there was a kiss, at least."

I shrugged, adopting what I hope was careless nonchalance, and said nothing. Mae is a darling, but whatever else happened is my own business.

"Well," she persisted, "with so little to go on, what makes you so certain he's of the same mind?"

"I know him," I said simply. "I ought to, after all these years."

Mae looked into the fire, pretending to sulk. "I think the rumors are more interesting."

"Ugh," I said, burying my face in my hands. "I can't believe such things are being said. It's mortifying. I'm surprised the queen hasn't given me some sort of lecture about behaving in such a way to let them begin in the first place."

"Oh, nobody spreads that kind of gossip to Teleria," said Mae, propping her feet on the hearth, "because she'll go right to the source and root out the truth, and then whoever started it will find themselves wishing they hadn't." She looked at me sympathetically. "I wouldn't worry about it, though. Everything I told you is old news – circulating when I came back a month ago. Nobody talks about it now."

"I suppose they're too busy trading stories about Aeronwen and Trefor," I said, and the conversation veered off to follow another trail. Probably half the things either of us had heard about them weren't the least bit true, if they were anything like the things that had been said about me, but somehow it's much more palatable to swallow such morsels when they concern someone else, especially someone I dislike. It's astonishing how facts get twisted and changed as they travel from mouth to mouth, embellished and colored and embroidered until there's nothing left of the original. Too bad everyone doesn't have a harp like Fflewddur's strapped to their backs, although around here the strings popping right and left would make such a din I'm sure it would drown out the voices of all the women in the sewing room.

Which might not be such a terrible thing!

* * *

_A little more lighthearted in this chapter; they can't all be climactic and dramatic, and I needed a break after the preceding nightmares and doomsday scenarios - as rich as they are, they feel a little "above" Eilonwy's voice, if that makes sense, and I had to get back into her vernacular. I've been wanting to do a little more with Mae for some time, and am enjoying giving Eilonwy a chance to be girly and giggly for once. Any gal who's ever been up too late with her dorm mates eating chocolate-chip-cookie dough and leaving prank phone messages on their friends' voicemail should recognize the scene here. There's a point where whatever is said becomes hilarious, even if it's just someone blurting out nonsense. I miss those moments._


	24. Magical Reluctance

Nineteenth of Elembious, lighttime

It's strange the things one thinks about in the middle of the night. Perhaps because there are fewer distractions.

I realized suddenly, sitting here, that it's perfectly ridiculous for me to be writing by candlelight when I could be using my bauble for light instead. And then I realized that I haven't actually used it at all in weeks, but for that one night when I went out to try the garden gate, and I still remember the odd, uncomfortable little thrill it gave me then. And now that I think of it I must admit to myself that I've been _avoiding _thinking of it.

Well, I'm not going to avoid it any longer. It's silly to be wasting candles. Besides, what on earth can be the matter with me? I've had my bauble as long as I can remember; it was the nearest thing to a friend I had in Spiral Castle and I'll be hexed if I'll let any nonsense of Achren's spoil it for me now.

Everything seems to come back to her somehow. But after all I never suspected it was anything more than a novel trinket until she got so fussed about it in Caer Colur.

I can't remember ever being without my bauble…the Peladryn, I suppose I should say, although I'll never be able to think of it that way. Mother must have given it to me when I was quite small, and I wish I could remember that…surely she impressed upon me something of its importance, because I was careful never to lose it. I knew it was magical, of course, but there were lots of magical things around Spiral Castle. It's only that all of them were Achren's, except my bauble. I knew it was mine, for Achren never even tried to touch it. It never occurred to me to wonder whether it would behave for anyone else as it did for me. Lighting it up has always been as simple as wishing for it…it obeys my will as swiftly and without fanfare as my own arms and legs do.

Yet finding out what it really is has made me…distrust it a little. As though somehow it betrayed me to Achren's tender mercies back in Caer Colur. And yet that's not right, either. Oh, this is maddening.

There it sits, on my shelf, so innocuously. At first glance, at least, no more noteworthy than any oddment cluttering my space, but the longer I look at it the more it seems to stare at me. Or maybe that's just my own reflection, distorted on its surface. It makes my nose look enormous!

It's magic, is what it is. A symbol of all the magic in my blood that I can't use, threading. through me like veins of silver through stone. And I don't know whether I want it there or not...it's never done me a particle of good and has only served to nearly get me and the people I love killed, or worse. Perhaps I _shouldn't_ use my bauble at all…perhaps even _it_ is part of the heritage I've now forsworn.

I'm trying to remember anyone I've known who had such a thing, and the closest thing coming to mind is that queer brooch of Adaon's that Taran traded for the Crochan.

It was an odd-looking thing and not very big. I never even noticed it the first time I saw Adaon…of course you didn't notice things _about_ Adaon as much as you just noticed _him_. He had a way of commanding attention just by being there…the way you can't help staring at a candle flame when it's the only light in a room.

I'm not the only one who felt so either, so I know it wasn't just my being foolishly girly about him, though I'd be lying if I said he wasn't strikingly handsome. Those eyes of his! They were like stars. I wonder what Aeronwen…but no, I won't be flippant. Besides, Adaon was betrothed. I do wonder what sort of woman was worthy of him, and whatever became of her, poor girl.

It was more than how he looked, though. He could have appeared with a sack over his head and still impressed everyone. It's difficult to put my finger on why, but I do know it wasn't because of any old twist of iron he wore, whatever Taran claimed it did.

Not that I doubted Taran's word on it, for I saw its effect with my own eyes when _he_ was wearing it. He seemed to become…older, somehow, more thoughtful, more understanding, more…mysterious, in a way. In short, more like Adaon. No wonder it was hard to give it up.

And yet it was well that he did so. I was dismayed enough at the time, but now that I remember it…it was like giving up a shirt that didn't quite fit him. It had fit Adaon, perhaps because it was _his_, made for him, a part of him that added nothing he needed but simply reflected who he was. Given time, Taran might have grown into it…but by then, _he_ wouldn't have needed it anymore. I suppose if knowledge, truth, and love are worth anything, they are worth earning and discovering for yourself, and treating them like gems to be bound in a piece of jewelry is too deceptively simple. Magic often seems to work that way, I've noticed. It wants to take the easy way round things instead of the best way, and it nearly always turns out to be less valuable than you expected.

And now I'm brought back to my bauble…or, more to the point, the magic in me that it reminds me of so relentlessly. Can it be that, my heritage notwithstanding, all the enchantments of Llyr would have been an ill-fitting garment for me…as ill-fitting as the Adaon-shaped glory of the brooch would have been on Taran? In which case, it was a good thing that I destroyed the book of spells and forswore my birthright, in order to just stay…myself. Whatever worth there may be in that.

I suppose I prefer being myself if my only alternative was to become like Achren. And with her in control I'm sure that's what would have happened.

I have a horrible memory, vague though it is, of Gurgi in the Great Hall, shrieking in agony while Achren used me to torture him. And I couldn't _stop_ her, I _could not keep her from doing it_; I was hating her too much, hating her with every beat of my heart and every breath I took, and somehow she was taking that, gathering it up, and channeling it away from herself and into him. By the time I realized how it was happening, I'd nearly killed him. I'll never forget his poor wrinkled, whiskered face as he whimpered out his forgiveness. He knew I didn't mean it for him, but the result was the same as if I had.

How _could_ I have wavered an instant on whether I should destroy those spells! When I think of what my life would be like now if I hadn't…

Well, I won't. Some things don't bear thinking of in the middle of the night. Nightmares are bad enough when I am asleep; no sense dredging them up when I'm awake as well.

And yet…it was the light of the Peladryn that broke through that darkness. While I stood there frozen in the web Achren had spun out of my own fear and anger, it was my bauble's golden glow upon the faces I loved that cleared my mind enough to understand what I must do – do for them, in spite of myself.

And Taran told me he and Rhun were both able to light it, too, by thinking of and being concerned for people besides themselves at the time.

It seems my bauble reveals more than the spells of Caer Colur.

There should be nothing to fear about a thing that glows with all the strength of its holder's love.

I think I shall waste no more candles.

* * *

_Deep thoughts from Eilonwy. With regards to adaon45 and PrydainViolet, whose conversations about the nature of magical objects and general Adaon-ogling inspired the above. If it's confusing to you, that's okay - it's confusing to Eilonwy, too.  
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	25. First Encounter

Twenty-second of Elembious, light time

My lessons with the Queen today were all about the history of Caer Dathyl and the Sons of Don. Quite interesting. I knew some of it from Achren, of course, but hers was a rather biased version…always going on about how they were usurpers and traitors. No wonder she's so bitter about Gwydion.

Anyhow, it was no surprise, then, that I found myself unable to sleep tonight, remembering my own experiences at Caer Dathyl. It's becoming rather a habit to write out things that nag at me at bedtime, as I'm finding it amazingly helpful. It's like chasing mice out of my bedroom.

Caer Dathyl itself is a sight to behold. It's too bad I didn't get a chance to really look at the castle as we approached, because I'm sure it would have been a marvelous first impression…all gleaming towers and golden banners. As it was, we were in a bit of a hurry, and preoccupied with not being chopped to bits by the Horned King's warriors. And the Horned King himself! It was years before I stopped having nightmares about him.

Llyr, that ride. I can vividly remember careening over bracken and bramble, clinging desperately to Taran with one arm and Melyngar's saddle with the other. She's a magnificent animal but no horse carries two gracefully, and it was all I could do to stay on. That blasted black sword was banging around on my back and throwing off my balance with every stride; utterly useless as a weapon and so much dead weight. Taran's hair was in my face and eyes, and my own kept getting ripped at by every passing twig and branch. Taran caught the worst of those in the face, but I got my share of lashing about the ribs and legs.

But the discomforts were nothing compared with the knowledge of what was chasing us. I could not have been more terrified if Death himself were on our tail, as it might just as well have been. I could hear the snorting and panting of the horse, every hoofbeat as he crashed through the undergrowth, even the guttural ragged breathing of the giant on his back. We had just crossed a stream when the harsh steel rasp of a sword being drawn screeched across the distance between the two horses. What an unmistakable, ugly sound that is when you aren't the one doing the drawing.

From the moment I heard it I felt suddenly enormous and mercilessly exposed, as though every body part was presenting a perfect target, and my skin prickled and crawled as I tried by sheer will to make myself smaller. Our pursuer had pulled astride of us by then and Taran and I both instinctively leaned to the right, away from him, as though somehow that few extra inches would save us; I remember letting go of Melyngar's saddle so that I could pull my left hand protectively to my chest.

It was a jolt like being hit with a battering ram when the Horned King spurred his mount into our path. Melyngar did her best, but our position was so precarious by then that there was no saving it. I'd always dreaded being thrown from a horse, but at that moment it was so much the least of my worries I don't remember giving the fall itself a second thought – just determined that when I hit the ground I would have no time to snivel about it but must spring up and get out of the way instantly. I distinctly remember thinking with that kind of clarity in the few seconds it took to be thrown, as though time slowed down in the air between horseback and earth.

I landed and rolled, scrabbling for traction in the bracken and dead leaves on the forest floor, and the whole world was churned-up earth and screaming horses and thrashing hooves – amazing how just two horses can suddenly seem to have a hundred legs when you're trying not to be under one of them. Before I could get my bearings Taran had grabbed me by the arm and we scrambled toward the nearest thicket. As we heard the crushing footfalls of the Horned King behind us, I had the odd notion that it was more like being tracked by a beast than followed by a man, and that even if it were dark he'd be able to find us by the smell of our fear.

Taran's face was dead white, but he had his sword out and when our pursuer was almost upon us he shoved me forward and shouted for me to run. Perhaps I ought to have. Instead I whirled around just in time to see Taran's blade shatter under an attack from the giant warrior. I froze in horror, but as the Horned King drew back for another blow Taran scrambled up, saw me still standing there, and leapt toward me, shouting something about a sword that I couldn't make out. I had forgotten about Dyrnwyn still strapped to my back, and before I knew what was happening he had grabbed the scabbard and yanked at it, taking a good handful of my hair along with it and almost pulling me down as I struggled to get free of the straps. I was shouting at him not to be a fool; that he couldn't draw it, that it was dangerous, but he paid no attention and I can't blame him, seeing the position we were in.

The Horned King had paused at the sight of the black sword as though it disturbed him, but as Taran struggled vainly to draw it the big brute shook off his doubt and raised his arms for another blow…and it was at that moment several things happened at once.

I had flung myself at the Horned King, intending to do I know not what, as I had no weapon of any kind. It sprang from desperation rather than bravery – all I could think was that I had to stop him, somehow, from smiting Taran. Just as I had begun to move there was a blinding flash of light and a cry of pain, but I had no chance to see what had happened, as the next moment I was being tossed aside like a ragged old garment. It's somewhat mortifying that the Horned King didn't even consider me worth killing before he threw me off!

I crashed against a tree and tumbled to its base in a paralyzed heap. It would have been a mercy to hit my head and black out but such was not my fate…I was in too much pain to move, but apparently not enough to faint, although the world swam before my eyes. For a confused moment I could make no sense of anything I saw, and I wish it had stayed that way, because clarity brought a truly horrifying scene.

The Horned King was on fire…flames of brilliant blue-white engulfed his entire figure. I could feel the heat from them even where I was, a short distance away. He was stumbling about like a madman, roaring in pain, and finally fell to the ground and writhed like a dying snake. His skin blackened and flaked away and sparks popped and flew…but did not kindle any of the surrounding tinder, strangely enough.

The smell of burning flesh filled the air, choking me. I screamed, but I could not drown out the sound of the big brute's dying agonies; his shrieks had become high-pitched and piercing. I'll remember those screams until I die…I couldn't get away from them. I could shut out the sight but there was no escaping the sound.

Frantically I scrambled away, stumbling back into the trees, screaming and sobbing in hysterics. I had forgotten all about Taran and Melyngar…I just wanted to escape from that hideous scene. I could think of nothing but to _keep moving…get away_…and when I blindly plowed into something solid and felt my arms grasped by large hands it threw me into utter panic. I screamed and fought and kicked and bit and was nearly out of my mind with fear, but the hands didn't let go – in fact a pair of very strong arms wrapped around me and with some difficulty forced me to be still. A deep voice spoke words I did not comprehend, but it was soothing and calm and continuous like a song, and as it brought me slowly back to myself I found I was being rocked like an infant against a man's broad chest.

When I stopped struggling and relaxed, the arms loosened and I pulled away to see the face of my captor, and thus laid eyes on Gwydion for the first time in my life.

I didn't know who he was, of course. But I knew he was someone important. There's an aura of authority about Gwydion that is unmistakable; something in the way he carries his head and the set of his jaw. I sensed at once I was safe, and studied him mutely for some moments, for he reminded me curiously of Medwyn's wolf Brynach - the same grey-streaked shaggy hair, the same keen eyes, the same intense, searching expression. His face was lined and rugged from exposure and he was badly in need of a shave, and his nose was a bit crooked. I daresay it's been broken more than once. I could not have called him handsome exactly, and I still couldn't, but you can't stop looking at him, somehow.

He looked at me with something like shock – or at least the nearest thing Gwydion could ever come to it. He takes surprises, like everything else, calmly and in course. At the time I thought he was just surprised to find a girl in such a place. I've figured out a few things since then.

He was composed in moments, seeming to shelve a library's worth of questions to the back of his mind, asking only one: "Are you hurt?" His teeth were brilliantly white in his dark face, and his canines just a wee bit more pointed than usual, and I thought again, abruptly, of Brynach.

I was myself again by then, suddenly remembered Taran, was sure he was dead, and burst into tears. Gwydion made to soothe me again, but I grabbed his arm and began dragging him back the way I had come, babbling (probably incoherently) that it wasn't me that was hurt, it was Taran, that he'd tried to draw the sword and the Horned King might have killed him. I don't know how much of it Gwydion understood but he did make out the name Taran, because he repeated it sharply and strode ahead.

Several of the warriors from Caer Dathyl had followed Gwydion into the woods and by this time they had clustered around us, so it was a score or so of men I led back to the body of the Horned King, in smoldering bits by this time. Taran was lying a short distance away; I shrieked and ran to him. He was limp and pale, and his right arm, flung up next to his face, was blistered and raw from wrist to elbow. I fell next to him in tears, and Gwydion knelt gravely and put a hand to his face and neck.

"He lives," he murmured, with a brief smile at me. "Be easy, Princess."

I was too distracted at the time to wonder how he knew I was a princess when I hadn't even told him my name. The relief at finding Taran alive was so great it crowded out everything else. As two of the men lifted Taran, another ran up holding the black scabbard, with Dyrnwyn still sheathed safely within. "We found this over there, beneath the tree, Lord Gwydion."

Before Gwydion could speak, I snatched the sword. "That's mine." The man started, and looked from me to Gwydion in consternation. I saw Gwydion's mouth twitch amusedly, even as he stared at Dyrnwyn with evident interest. All at once I registered what the man had called him and my mouth dropped open. "Gwydion!" I exclaimed. "Gwydion, Prince of Don?"

He nodded his head once, his green eyes twinkling. I thought of all the bitter things Achren had ever said of him and blushed. Of course none of it could be true.

"We thought you were dead," I blurted out, then thought to amend this with, "I'm terribly glad you aren't, of course." The men laughed and I squirmed, but inspiration struck. I knelt and held Dyrnwyn up toward him.

"I spoke the truth when I called this mine," I said, with a sidelong glance at the man I had taken it from, "for it was I who took it from the barrow beneath Spiral Castle. It wasn't doing any good for its previous owner," I added hastily, "but to be honest it doesn't do me much good either. Since it's mine to give, I should like to give it to you, Lord Gwydion. It says on the scabbard that it's only to be drawn by one of royal blood. I daresay you fill that requirement better than anyone else."

All the men fell silent and Gwydion smiled. He took the sword from me gravely and examined it. When he grasped the pommel I held my breath, but the sword slid out with nary a squeak of protest. He held it up and admired it, and a filmy streak of white flame slithered up the blade. There was a collective murmur from the men. "It is an elegant weapon," Gwydion said, "and a noble gift. I thank you, lady." I flushed with pride and pleasure and he sheathed the sword and handed it to me. "Perhaps you will do me the honor?"

I knew nothing about the sword-girding ceremony except its existence, as I've mentioned before, so I didn't say all the proper words. But I was giddy with the importance of it nonetheless. Even Gwydion's men were silent and respectful.

Once it was done he became businesslike and began to give orders. He bade the men carrying Taran to return to the fortress and me to accompany them, while he led the rest of the men back to their forces massing against the Horned King's armies. He walked to the body and picked up the antlered skull and I shuddered. I knew he did it to be able to show the enemy that their leader was dead, so it was practical – and effective – but I should not have wanted to touch the thing.

I told Taran later that I still saw the Horned King burning in nightmares, even when I wasn't asleep. It was true…there were times over the next few weeks when that horrible vision would crowd itself into my thoughts and it was all I could do to wrench away. I wish one could reach into one's memory and claw out the bits that were unpleasant.

But perhaps that is what writing about them does, in a way. They are never so pestering in my head after I've written them out here. Bless Dallben!

* * *

_ I've a bit of a plot bunny in gestation about writing this same scene from Gwydion's POV. Stay tuned for a oneshot on that topic._

_Meanwhile, thanks for the new reviews! I'll try to keep these coming. _


	26. The Upper Hand

Twenty-seventh of Elembious, light time

What rumpus here in the last few days! I hardly know where to begin describing it.

I suppose it goes back to Mabonwy's finding my secret stash of boy's clothing and being threatened with discharge if she told anyone. Truth be told, I thought of leaking the rumor myself, so that she'd be blamed with blabbing and I'd be rid of her. But that sort of deceptive manipulation seemed so…Achrenish.

Anyhow, I knew she'd never be able to resist spilling it to Aeronwen, discharge or no, and I knew when she must have because Aeronwen did finally begin digging at me about it – in very vague, coded ways that only I would understand completely but that to an outside listener insinuated awful things – all the worse for being unclear, and of course she made sure always to say something when there were plenty of others around to hear. A brilliant bit of intrigue on her part, really, as if I had accused Mabonwy openly of talking it would have all been brought out public. She had me pretty fairly at bay, and oh, it rankled, although I pretended never to know what she was talking about. Only Mae knew the details, as she's been in my confidence about the whole thing. But of course, she had to pretend ignorance.

To make matters worse, it became quite obvious that Aeronwen had put Mabonwy up to openly spying on me. I don't know what she expected to find. It's not as though I'm skulking around the treasury or sticking silver spoons down my bodice. Nevertheless she barged into my room at almost any hour of the day or night, with lame excuses about needing to bring fresh linens or finding out if I needed anything. I haven't dared to write this whole time because of it.

But I'm writing now. Ah! Yes. Things have changed a bit over the last few hours.

I was so annoyed at having my privacy invaded so often (and in passing, must relate that I recently found out that most of the ladies' servants actually _sleep_ in the same room with them! The horror! I should be driven utterly insane) that I'd begun spending my pre-bedtime hours rambling about in other parts of the castle, and two nights ago I found the library – or what passes for one on Mona. It's hardly a trove of knowledge, but then, having seen the Halls of Lore once at Caer Dathyl I suppose I can't be impressed by anything less, and it's unfair to compare them.

It's clear the royal house doesn't often spawn any great readers, for the whole chamber was coated in dust and cobwebs. It's a small space with its books piled in no particular order except possibly chronological – as in, the oldest are on the bottom because they've never been moved! The braziers were long dead but I had my bauble for light, and there were a couple of candelabras standing about which must get used sometimes. There's a rather nice large window at one end, with a couch underneath, which must be a cozy place to read in the daytime. Evidently it finds other uses in the evenings…but I'm getting ahead of myself.

I like books. Achren hadn't very many and what she had were mostly forbidden or should have been. There were a few lovely volumes at Caer Dallben (other than the Book of Three, of course, which I never touched, having been warned by Taran). So when I found the place I was intrigued, and spent some time poking around. Most of it is dull stuff – histories of places I've never heard of, or genealogies that go back more generations than anyone could possibly care about. But I did find one that mentioned Llyr, and that gave me the idea that I might find some interesting things about my ancestry with a little careful searching. There was so much intermarrying, trading, and communal holidaying between Llyr and Mona that there's bound to be some history preserved here. At least I hope so.

I found nothing terribly interesting the first evening except an old set of folklore, which has been entertaining reading, if not what I was looking for. I recognized a few of the tales, or at least the outlines of them. Last night Mae and I played board games in her chambers, but tonight I was free to wander down to the library once more.

The library is in the west wing which isn't used much, as it's fallen into some disrepair, and the corridors have been deserted whenever I've gone that way before. Therefore I was much astonished, upon approaching the door, to see a glimmer of light under its threshold, and to hear muffled voices.

I couldn't make out words, but it was plainly two people, male and female, and there was a lot of giggling involved. A couple of servants, I thought, canoodling somewhere they thought wouldn't be disturbed. It was an embarrassing thing to contemplate, much less interrupt, and my first impulse was to leave and return later.

I didn't get the chance. There were scuffles, footsteps, and the door suddenly swung open. One figure stumbled into the hall, squealing a laugh that died on her lips as she straightened up and looked me full in the face.

It was Aeronwen.

I don't know which of us was more shocked, or wished more fervently to be anywhere else. She was flushed, hair disheveled and clothing rather askew. In the light from the library door a second figure appeared in silhouette – the slim-shouldered, lanky build I recognized as Lord Trefor (oh, yes, he's still here, and now I know why), fully clothed, thank Belin, although with the rumpled look of this having been a recent accomplishment.

Both Aeronwen and I were stricken dumb for long moments. For once she had no remark prepared, and I was too embarrassed to say anything. How odd in that situation that _I_ should be the embarrassed one!

Her expression wavered between utter fury and fear – and the fear finally made me realize the position we were in. Suddenly my embarrassment melted away, and I felt a curious, calm sensation, and then a wave of delicious confidence bore me up, fizzing like bubbles in a cup of wine. I lowered my lit bauble closer to her face until she had to squint.

"Well, well," I said, feeling my mouth turn up in a smirk, "in the library, of all places. I had no idea you'd an interest in..." I cast a glance at Trefor, "…research."

Aeronwen stiffened and for a moment I thought she would strike me. "You…" She was actually trembling. "If you say a word...I'll…"

There was a pause, during which the only sound was her heavy breathing. "Yes?" I said lightly, "you'll what? Spread around a silly story about men's clothes?" I laughed and she flinched. "Oh, I think I can top that, don't you? As a matter of fact, maybe I'll go ahead and tell that one just for laughs. Think how it will shock all those poor old ladies – the princess hiding men's clothes in her room! And after all the queen's lectures on the virtue of a woman, too. Such a scandal."

"Now see here," Trefor broke in, striding forward as Aeronwen paled, "this is none of your…"

Strangely, she cut him off with a jerk of her head. "Don't."

I don't know why she wouldn't let him speak, unless she thought he'd make things worse. I suppose I could have pulled rank and told him off myself, but he isn't really worth the trouble.

A tense silence followed, during which she glared at me and I thought quickly. This was too good an opportunity to let slip and I was going to use it. I returned her glare, and made my voice as low and level as I could.

"You'll call that bloodhound maidservant of yours off my trail," I said. "In fact, you will go to the queen and request Mabonwy's assistance to such an extent that she will be your servant exclusively. You will cease to spread lies about me, and will quell any rumors that are passed on to you."

Her face was sullen and dark but she nodded. I felt a strange, sudden rush of sadness. "I did nothing to earn your loathing before I came," I told her, "but you cast it on me anyway. At least now, since you are determined to hate me, you have a reason." I don't know why it hurt to say it. I've never sought Aeronwen's approval or affection, but it is painful to be despised for no reason, as though on principle.

I took one last look at Trefor, glowering over her shoulder, and Aeronwen spoke. "How do I know you will keep silent?"

I gave her a withering look. "You have my word, and you'll have to be satisfied with that."

And I turned and left without a backward glance.

It was strange. I thought I should feel wildly victorious. Instead I merely felt rather grim and reluctantly satisfied. I suppose it's because I hate to reach a truce with Aeronwen on such shaky grounds – I'd rather it was voluntary on her part. But I'll take it any way it comes.

She was as good as her (coerced) word. At bedtime it was Eirliss, not Mabonwy, who came to help me undress. She and I had a warm reunion and talked for an hour before she excused herself. And then I was finally able to pull out my book with no fear! It is taking some getting used to. I keep jumping at night noises and looking over my shoulder at the door as though Mabonwy might barge in at any moment.

At any rate, I seem to be safe…indefinitely, I hope. Secrets like the one those two are keeping have a tendency to announce themselves in time, but I'm content to keep my silence so long as she keeps her end of the bargain.

Full moon tomorrow night. Perhaps it's time for another swim!

* * *

_Ahh, sweet intrigue. Well, I had written myself into a bit of a corner what with the necessary restrictions, and I needed Eilonwy to get the upper hand back, at least for a while. I also felt this would be a way to explore a little darker side of her character - the manipulative bent that Achren would have fostered. It's kind of a dirty deal she's played here, and I think there will be ramifications later. _

_ Thanks for all the reviews. I had several inspirations over the holidays so hopefully you'll all have more to enjoy. _

_And no, prydain fan, I have not forgotten about Glew. I just don't want to deal with him yet. Logically there's not been time for Kaw to return from Caer Dallben with his "cure" anyway._


	27. Interrupted opportunity

Twenty-eighth of Elembious, full moon

Escaped the walls tonight, but the water is too rough for swimming. Instead I'm writing on the beach by moonlight and bauble-light. It's a pretty combination. I am glad I thought to bring this book.

Today was interesting. Aeronwen was uncharacteristically quiet in the sewing rooms and nodded politely to me when I entered. So far my power over her has held for…well, about twenty-four hours. Mae noticed the change and asked me about it, and I told her we'd reached an agreement. I'm dying to tell her all I know, but I did give my word. There, now I have it in writing, so I'll bind myself to it.

Anyhow, I don't want to think about Aeronwen or anything in all of blessed Mona just now. The sea-wind is rough and tingling and it's making me want to run wildly along the rocks until I take off and fly, transformed like one of Llyr's swans. That's one of the legends in the book of lore I found, one that I remember snippets of from childhood.

I wonder shall I be content to live at Caer Dallben for always. Now that I've spent some time living near the sea I think I shall be sorry to leave it – that I'll long for it sometimes in the midst of Coll's cabbage patches and apple orchards. There are nights here, when the wind is right, that I can hear it roaring through my casement, and the sound sings me blissfully to sleep.

And yet, if I lived near the sea always, I should miss the smells of turned-up earth and burning leaves, and the sound of a million trees whispering to one another in the evening wind. If only one could be everywhere at once…or have each thing one loves about each place all meshed together into one glorious paradise.

There's a great breaker just crashed against the rocks. I felt the spray from here. Llyr, it makes me want to dance.

It's odd how a rough sea can be such an enchanting thing to look at and such a horrifying thing to be _on_. One would think all the tossing about would be exciting but instead it just makes you ill. That first day on the ship on the way to Mona there was a stretch that made us all green, except for Rhun, who bounced around just as jovially as if we were sailing on glass.

How it makes me laugh now to think of it! Taran was so cross the whole time that I was quite disgusted with him; he resented Rhun dreadfully and it got in the way of actually talking with him. Every time I tried, he'd somehow turn the conversation to nothing but complaining about poor Rhun and how feckless he was. He was plainly jealous, which I would have found endearing if he'd actually had a reason. But being jealous of Rhun was just irrational…like a swan envying a turtle.

There is one memory of that trip that I take out and polish when I'm feeling particularly lonely. I found myself poring over it a good deal today. I don't know why but my fateful discovery of Aeronwen and Trefor last night made me moody…not that I'm envious of them particularly, and not that I should be dallying about with anyone in libraries even if I had the opportunity. But having someone else's romance thrown into my face in such a fashion made me feel a bit hollow and restless. I tossed for hours last night before I slept, and it was only by cuddling down with my best memories of Taran.

It was the fourth or fifth day into the journey. I had finally got my "sea legs", as the sailors call them, and was up in the stern, around the back of the shed, leaning against the rail and watching the wake curl and churn behind us. From the platform overhead I could hear Rhun enthusiastically shouting orders. Gurgi was climbing about in the rigging and Taran was helping on deck – or so I thought.

Presently I heard footsteps and turned to see him ambling up next to me. It was rare that we caught a moment alone, so I stepped to the side a few paces to give him room at the railing – even though I was still a bit peeved with him for some earlier infraction. Unfortunately it seemed he was still in an irascible mood, and when Rhun's voice boomed out over our heads, commanding the sailors to secure the rigging and swab the decks, he snorted loudly.

"If you've joined me here to be civil and pleasant and enjoy the scenery," I remarked, nettled, "then I'd be pleased to stay. But if you're going to start in again about the injustice of the relative positions of princes and pig-keepers, I think I'll find somewhere else to go."

He scowled out at the water. "We're on a ship. There's only so many places _to_ go, more's the pity."

"There's always over the side," I answered crisply, and he gave me a sidelong glance of annoyance.

"I promise not to criticize any princes, if that will please you," he said, leaning his elbows on the rail and picking at a splinter there.

"That will do," I said, and there was silence for a while. I watched his hands pull off the splinter and toss it into the water; he was fidgety and it made me nervous.

"It's lovely, isn't it, the way the sky seems to touch the water," I remarked, just to have something to talk about. "It's as though the whole sky is a tent, lashed at the edges of the horizon."

"Maybe it is," he said musingly, though not with much interest. I shook my head.

"I don't know. Some of the sailors say it goes on forever…that you could sail for a thousand years and never come to the place where the sky touches. Others say you come to the edge of the earth and go over in a great waterfall and drop into an abyss, and fall and fall for all eternity."

He shuddered. "That's an awful thought." A brief pause, and then he remarked, "I wonder if anyone will ever know…ever sail that far, and come back to tell about it." There was an undertone of excitement in his voice now. "Now that would be a tale worth telling. Think of seeing the edge of the world."

I smiled wistfully. "The edge of Prydain is boundary enough for me. I wish we were going back."

I waited for him to say he wished it too, but he only glanced at me swiftly, searchingly, as though wondering if I really meant it. "Mona's part of Prydain, though."

"You know what I mean," I responded, grimacing, for I didn't want to talk about Mona or my impending stay there. "Back home to Caer Dallben. I know nothing of Mona and I'm not particularly interested."

"It's near Llyr," he persisted. "Aren't you the least bit interested in _that_?"

It was as though he were trying to talk me into _liking_ leaving and I grew irritated again. "My kin at Llyr," I said through clenched teeth, "apparently had no more sense than to hand me over to Achren at the earliest opportunity. Why should I care anything about them or their old abandoned strongholds?" It was a dreadful thing to say, but I was a bundle of nerves at that point.

"Now wait," he said, bewildered. "You're not making any sense. You've always been proud of your heritage…rightly so. You're nobly born, a princess--"

"There you go again!" I exclaimed, pushing away from the railing and stepping back, folding my arms angrily. "Always bringing up birth and nobility. Can't you think about anything else?"

Of course he reacted to my anger by getting angry himself. "Oh, forget it. I was just trying to make you feel better about going, but never mind."

"I don't _want_ to feel better about going," I cried in vexation. "It's like asking to be slapped. And nobody's going to make me, you least of all." It was true enough, and, as he was the reason I wanted to stay, a compliment in a way, but it didn't sound like one. He had his back to the railing now, facing me, and his expression darkened.

"Well, perhaps you'd rather take comfort from _that_," he growled, pointing up to the platform where Rhun was standing. "I'm sure he'd give it to you far better than I."

I had a furious retort ready when several things happened at the same time. The deck suddenly pitched wildly like an unbroken horse underfoot. Knocked off balance, I stumbled backwards and fell into the wall of the shed, and Taran stumbled forwards and fell into me.

It happened so fast there was no stopping it; indeed before I even realized what had happened I found myself pinned as neatly as a rabbit in a snare between Taran and the wall. He had thrown up his hands to break his fall and they were splayed against the rough wood at either side of my shoulders; his face was perhaps a hand's breadth away from mine and wore an expression of utter shock - which I'm sure I shared.

A pretty situation, indeed. I was too confused and disoriented to move, but in a few swift moments became acutely aware of several things – first, that my left cheekbone was throbbing from colliding with his shoulder on the way down, second, that my heart was pounding so hard I could actually feel the pulse in my neck and wrists, third, that I had lost my footing so completely the only thing holding me up was his body weight, and fourth, that this entire circumstance was about the furthest from unpleasant I could possibly imagine.

I suppose I ought to be blushing recounting this, but I don't think I am. There must be no hope for me.

I don't know how long we stood thus – it felt like a long time, but was likely only a few seconds. He did not seem inclined to move and I wasn't sure whether I wanted him to or not – though I thought if he didn't do _some_thing I was going to fly to pieces. Presently he cleared his throat, and spoke shakily. "Er - are you all right?"

His breath was warm on my face, and I felt a wild inclination to throw my arms around him and show him just how all right I felt. But I only nodded, feeling hysterical.

More long seconds, and I found myself staring at the line of his chin, right on level with my nose. It started to lower – my heart seemed to drop into my toes – I held my breath – and then…

"Hullo hullo!" Rhun's voice sang out over the roaring in my ears, and all in a twinkling Taran scrambled back, pulling me up as he did so. We were more or less steady by the time Rhun, whom I'd never thought more wretchedly inconvenient, popped round the corner of the shed, beaming. For once his density served us, because if my face was as red as Taran's, any cleverer person would have been suspicious.

"I say, that was a bit of a jolt, wasn't it? The sailors say it's called a rogue wave. I nearly fell right off the platform," he informed us cheerily. "Nearly everyone was knocked off their feet. Are you both all right?"

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time, but choked it down and gasped out, "We…yes, we're fine. The…er, the shed held us up." I jerked my head toward the wall, and glanced toward Taran, who was steadily not looking at me or Rhun.

"Ah, that's lucky," Rhun responded heartily. "Good thing we tilted that way, isn't it? Or you could have both gone over the rail."

We muttered agreement and Rhun, oblivious to any awkwardness, went on babbling about the unpredictability of currents and tides. I tried to smile and nod at appropriate points and Taran was sullenly silent, finally grunting something about seeing if the sailors needed a hand and leaving us. He and I didn't speak for the whole afternoon, and the next day we behaved as though nothing had happened, which was both relieving and maddeningly frustrating.

Funny how something that had me in such turmoil at the time should be one of my favorite memories now!

The sea is reflecting the moonlight in a shifting pathway like molten silver all the way to the horizon. If only I could walk on water I should go all the way to the edge of the earth and find out which of the sailors' stories are true.

* * *

_All right, yes, I'm guilty of breaking my no-fluff rule AND of using the oldest romantic tension cliche in the book (IS there a book? and who wrote it?), but this was just too irresistible and I'm **not sorry. ****  
**_

_I will have to change my summary though. **  
**_


	28. Flotsam

First of Edrinios, dark time

I made a discovery last night, I think – although I suppose it's news only to me.

On my way back over the outer wall, I stopped at the top to catch my breath, and happened to glance over the side of the other wall – the derelict one outside the garden wall that meets it at right angles. It's completely covered in brambles and ivy that grow higher than its edge, and too thick to see through, but last night I caught a glimpse of something through a gap in the leaves – something that gleamed in the moonlight.

It took some doing, but I managed to push through the bramble (and got my hands scratched for my troubles) without falling off the edge of the wall, at least enough to poke my head through. Before me the ground seemed to rise in lumpy swells, round humps like the backs of grazing pigs, one after another into the distance toward the cliffs. The nearest bore a gate of stone pillars facing in my direction – it was this I had seen gleaming in the moonlight. Barrows. The whole place is a burial-ground.

I was much intrigued – of course it must be the grounds for the royalty of Mona, and I've read or heard that the house of Caer Colur shared land with them for the same purpose. It could be that some of my own ancestors sleep there – those that weren't sent to sea on a barge, at least, which was apparently the custom for some time before the two houses started intermarrying.

I would have loved to get down and have a look around, but the brambles were too thick. I shall have to go out again and take something I can use to clear a path down the wall. I wish it weren't so difficult to procure a sharp object in this place. (Well, besides needles.) They keep the armory so well-bolted, it's a mercy they're never attacked – probably nobody even knows where the key is.

I do wish I could ask someone about it, but I daren't admit to having been outside the wall. Even Mae mustn't find out – I once dreamed of taking her with me down to the beach, but I don't believe she could make the climb and I wouldn't want to torment her with inaccessible adventures.

There's no real reason I couldn't just ask the queen where the royal burial grounds are and whether we could visit them, I suppose. But it's so much more fun to be secretive about it. Besides, she probably has rules about it being vulgar and disrespectful to poke about amongst barrows.

Anyhow…I was out too late, really, and this morning I was fearfully sleepy. The weather is still terribly hot and that made it worse, sitting in the sewing room trying not to yawn and nod over my embroidery. I'm finally almost finished with my white pig; it's taken me nearly three months and I shall be glad to have done with it. I've had to pick it out and re-do it half a dozen times, it seems. I mean to add Taran to the scene next – more complicated, but at least I'll be working with colors other than white and grey. I got so tired of neutral colors that I made her eyes blue instead of brown. Mae says that's called artistic license.

There's beginning to be talk of the harvest festival, upcoming in another two months. It does sound rather interesting; I've never taken part in one. At Caer Dallben we were always too busy…well, harvesting, and anyway we were too isolated to have such events going on within a reasonable distance. Mona hasn't much in the way of farming, so all the harvest goods are shipped in from the mainland and traded, and boats full of mainlanders come over to buy and sell. The festival is held down near the docks and the merchants and artisans all set up booths, and I hear there's music and feasting and dancing and weddings and bonfires and parades and enough general foolery to keep everyone settled for months afterward. Mae finished the mask for her brother some time ago and now she's making one for me so we can go mumming with everyone. Apparently when that's going on, anyone caught without a disguise will be done some mischief.

She's been fretting that perhaps Rhun won't be back by then, but I daresay he will. He must be halfway round the island by now, and he's already seen the areas most densely inhabited. How much more could there possibly be to investigate? Although knowing him, it's just as likely he's tramping through every back meadow and marsh and finding all sorts of (to him) wonders there. I never saw the like of Rhun for being so eagerly curious about everything. On the way back to Dinas Rhydnant the morning after I was rescued, he insisted on returning to the caves where they'd all been imprisoned by a giant, and all he could talk about were all the amazing crystals and rock formations in it – with barely a mention of all the harrowing details of their adventures there. It was Taran who filled me in on the rest of the story, and hearing it didn't make me exactly thrilled to be accompanying them back to the place.

It turned out all right, though. When we approached the area we found the caves almost immediately simply by following the sound of the giant's wailing. He'd heard us coming and set up the most pathetic lament you ever heard, for he was still trapped inside and apparently blamed all of them for his predicament. In the midst of a jumble of loose rock and boulders on a short slope, there was a black hole in the earth, and from it poured a steady stream of accusation in a thin, weedy sort of voice.

"Oh, yes, that's kind. Oh, very kind indeed. Coming back to gloat over my misery, I daresay. I suppose you've all been off having a jolly time with never a qualm about leaving me here! When you could have helped me out so easily! Oh, I wonder you're all not ashamed to show your faces after the way I've been treated!"

I hung back, and saw Taran and Fflewddur exchange exasperated glances. Gurgi bounded to the top of a boulder near the hole and shook his fist at the source of the voice. "Ungrateful giant would have killed us with crashings and bashings!" he shouted in outrage. "He has no right to give scoldings!"

"Oh, yes, bring _that_ up," the voice retorted, in a hurt tone. "I suppose I'll never be allowed to forget it, will I? Anyone would think I'd _wanted_ to do it! But did you take any notice of my feelings about it? Oh no! Never mind about Glew! We'll just blind him with blazing magic lights and then bring his cave crashing about his ears! That's the thanks I get for trying to be hospitable!"

Rhun had climbed up near the edge of the hole, and he bent over it, looking concerned. "I say, old chap, you aren't hurt, are you? We didn't mean for the cave to fall in, you know; you did that on your own."

"Of course, it's all my fault!" the giant wailed. "Everything's my fault, always, isn't it? One gets used to it after a time, since no one else ever takes responsibility." His voice became sulky. "And now you should see it in here. A terrible shambles. Broken crystal everywhere so I can hardly sit. Not that any of you care."

"Is it really?" Rhun was leaning in quite far, trying to peer into the hole. "That would be a shame. I'm hoping to open these caves up for exploration and it would be terribly disappointing if they were damaged. You will be careful, won't you?"

At that moment Gwydion and Taran, who had both been looking uneasy, leapt forward with warning cries, while I nearly jumped out of my skin. A hand the size of a shield, pale and lumpy and covered in grime, suddenly darted out of the hole and made a grab at Rhun. Fortunately the opening wasn't really the right size or shape to give the giant much room or accuracy, and Rhun was only knocked off balance, and came half rolling, half sliding back down the slope. Fflewddur and I ran to help him up, while Taran, having drawn his sword, angrily ran to the edge of the hole and struck the still-groping hand with the flat of the blade. It can't have hurt much, but the giant yelped like a baby, and pulled his hand back inside.

"You dare speak of kindness!" Taran shouted, over the creature's whining. "We came to help you, and even now you would trick us!"

"Oh! Oh!" Glew was blubbering like a scolded child. "I only wanted him for company. You've no idea how lonely it is here. Do I get any company? Any offers of solace? No, just jabbed in the hand with swords from people I never harmed!"

Taran looked about to burst like a thundercloud, but at that moment Gwydion reached the edge of the hole. "Peace, giant," he commanded sternly, and somehow when Gwydion speaks even childish giants know to listen. The blubbering became muffled, and loud snuffling took its place.

"Glew," Gwydion continued, "I give you my word that you will be released from this prison, though it be of your own making. I am Gwydion, Son of Don, and if you will not take my word than you can trust none. Will you trust me?"

There was a long pause, and the voice answered between snuffles, "I…suppose I have no…choice."

Gwydion seemed to think this sufficient, and explained the plan to have Taran relate his plight to Dallben, who would send back a potion to shrink him down to his proper size. Glew set up another wail when he realized he wasn't to be released immediately, but there was nothing any of us could do about that, so we had to leave him, still moaning and cursing the world and everything in it.

I felt rather sorry for him, although listening to him was enough to make true sympathy difficult. Still, it must be wretched to be trapped in dark caves all alone, and the fact that it's your own fault only makes matters worse. I've been in my share of predicaments, and I can't say it isn't tempting to want to blame someone else for the ones that are most decidedly my own doing, for a scrape feels all the worse when you have to acknowledge your own stupidity into the bargain. I wonder whether Dallben has been able to do anything for him, and whether he's still in the caves or not. Rhun is still intent on opening them up for the people of Mona to explore. I should like to see them…properly giant-free, of course. The only caves I've ever seen were the passages underneath Spiral Castle, and they were nothing to be impressed about.

Well, time for bed. No beach wanderings tonight – it's pouring rain!

* * *

Back again! Sorry about the delay. I'm just trying to keep you all in suspense! :P Actually, as you might guess, I'm trying to work up to various Events or Plot Points, but it takes some prologue, so bear with me. They can't all be juicy flashbacks; I need Eilonwy to be dealing with life in the present tense, too.

Thank you adaon45 for the proofread! And to answer your question, I'm pretty sure Gwydion does use the "Son of Don" title when he introduces himself to Taran in Book 1 - I don't have it in front of me at the moment, so somebody correct me if I'm wrong. It seems kind of the customary thing to do anyway in Prydain greetings - you see people refer to themselves as "son of" in first introductions as well as others randomly referring to them as such - so I think it's fair to assume Gwydion would do so as well, even if I'm wrong about there being precedent for it in canon.


	29. Future Role Model

Fourth of Edrinios, dark time

It's continued to rain almost continuously for the past three days, the usual late summer wet season. Somehow it's far more wearisome here than it was at Caer Dallben – perhaps because we more or less went about business as usual there while here the ladies keep indoors as if they fear drowning. They won't even have the casements open, or the damp might get inside – as if it wasn't already. At least open casements would bring in fresh air. The whole place stinks of mildew and bored people.

I'm tempted to go out tonight, rain or no, but it gets rather wild in the evenings; lightning and wind, which I enjoy from indoors but don't particularly want to be out in. At least in my own room I can open the casements without anyone complaining, though Eirliss gives me alarmed looks and stokes the fire and makes sure I'm wrapped in shawls.

The weather is making everyone contentious. A row broke out among some of the younger girls today in the sewing room, instigated by one Gwendolyn, a thirteen-year-old priss of a girl, empty-headed but usually harmless enough. No one even knew what was happening until Delyth, a shy dark-haired plain little thing of just twelve, rushed from the room in tears, and her sister Dilwen, older and less shy, stood up, ripped Gwendolyn's sewing out of her hands, threw it on the floor and stamped upon it. Things got rather lively for a while until the elders rushed in, and after a lot of threats and questioning it came out that Gwen had been, apparently in jest, making ribald remarks about Delyth and some lord's son known for being a bit simple (and thus the unwitting butt of many jokes). It was all rubbish of course – Delyth is kind to him out of common decency, unlike the others, but there's nothing a petty girl hates worse than one who _isn't, _I've noticed.

It was rather interesting to watch the older ladies remonstrating with someone other than myself for a change, although the scene was familiar. Dilwen was sent away in disgrace to think over her unladylike display of temper while Gwen was reprimanded for idle gossip and threatened with Queen Teleria's wrath. I waited to see what was going to be done about Delyth, but nobody went after her. Next to me I saw Mae's foot jerking rhythmically in a particular way she does when she's agitated, glanced at her face, and knew she was thinking the same thing as I.

Which is one of the reasons I'm beginning to adore Mae. There was no need to speak. Her eyes flickered at me and then at the door, and we both quietly laid down our sewing and rose. Nobody questioned us as we left – which made me wonder if I actually might have more freedom to come and go at will than I supposed – and made our way into the corridor.

"Little _beast_," Mae hissed as we got out of earshot. "I ought to tell her father. She's getting far too uppity for her own good. All of them – laughing at poor Hefin. Delyth and Dilwen have grown up with him since they were too young to realize he was different, and so much the better for them. They were raised by his aunt after their parents died…"

She went on about the various interrelations of the court, which always make my head spin with their complexity. I can only assume she can keep it all in her head because she grew up in its midst – I simply can't bring myself to believe she learned it all later, for then I might be expected to as well, and oh, my head aches at the thought.

We weren't searching; Mae was storming down the corridor like a ship in full sail, and I broke in, panting. "You seem to know where we're going to find her."

"I have a good idea," she said, not breaking her stride. "It's where I used to go when I wanted to be alone, and I showed it to Delyth a few months ago when I found her crying behind a rubbish heap in the gardens."

I slowed a little as something occurred to me. "Perhaps she won't want me there."

"Nonsense," Mae said, "most of the little girls love you, actually, because you stand up to Aeronwen. They're just too much in awe of you to show it. You're a bit distant, you know." She turned a corner abruptly, and began to go up a flight of spiral steps.

"Am I?" I gasped, too dumbstruck by this revelation to contradict.

"You don't talk to them," Mae explained, puffing a little as we went up the stairs. "Is it because you think they don't like you?"

"I suppose," I muttered, not really knowing how to answer. I'm a bit uncomfortable around the younger girls, actually – they seem so much more at ease with all this finery and ceremony than I, and it makes me feel awkward, so I never say much to them. And they are very quiet around me, which I've always attributed to the same feeling of general disapproval I get from the older ladies. The idea that they are quiet because they are in awe makes me feel a little ridiculous…like I'm a gnat dressed up like a butterfly. They'd find out soon enough I'm not worth any particular adulation.

"You ought to get to know more of the girls, anyhow," Mae said matter-of-factly as we reached the top of the stairs. "They aren't all like Aeronwen, you know. Even some of her hangers-on would probably defect to you if you were friendly to them."

"I wouldn't want any of Aeronwen's defectors for friends," I said scornfully. "Anyone who would change loyalties so easily is only doing it out of self-interest."

"Well," Mae mused, pausing on a landing before a closed door, "not everyone is as strong-willed as you and I. Some of the girls pander to Aeronwen out of fear, and that's not exactly loyalty. But never mind for now."

She knocked softly on the door. "Are you in there, Del?"

There was a pause, and a muffled thump against the door. It creaked open to reveal the tearstained face of Delyth. She gave Mae a watery smile, then saw me standing there and looked blank. I felt foolish and wished I hadn't come, but Mae took the matter in hand. "May we come in?"

Delyth nodded a little uncertainly, and Mae grabbed me by the sleeve and pulled me into what turned out to be an old watchtower chamber, long unused except for storing a few oddments of furniture. There was a niche in the wall for a candle, and beneath it an old couch was strewn with cushions. The casements overlooked a splendid view over the courtyards and across the meadows beyond, hazy with grey rain. It was barely a big enough space for the three of us but Mae squeezed onto the couch next to Delyth and I sat on a crate on the floor opposite them.

Mae put an arm around Delyth and squeezed, and under this maternal ministration Delyth melted. "I _hate_ her," she sobbed. "She…I didn't even hear everything she said…but she was laughing with Eleri and I kept hearing my name and Hefin's…and the things I _did_ hear were awful…"

"Shh," Mae hugged her protectively. "Never mind what they said. They're both silly and mean and anybody would know not to believe a word of it."

"But it's not that," Delyth wailed. "They've been teasing me about him for so long that last time…last time I saw Hefin I was _horrible_ to him, and hurt his feelings, because Gwen was there and I didn't want her saying I was…" She trailed off, burying her face in her hands, and I began to understand what Mae had meant about the other girls doing things out of fear.

I was suddenly desperately glad I had not grown up in a royal court of this kind, nor indeed around a lot of other girls my own age. Achren may have been a poor substitute but at least she had _reasons_ for being evil, and would have scorned such pettiness as not worth her time or energy.

"Why don't you tell Gwen to shut her mouth?" I demanded before I could stop myself, and Delyth looked up at me with her own mouth agape. "Why do you care what she says or thinks?" I persisted. "Do you _want_ to be like her and her friends – vain and stupid and giggling all the time over nothing?"

"N-o-o," Delyth quavered, and twisted her skirt in her hands. "I only…I want friends, but they're all there is to choose from."

"Rubbish," said Mae resolutely. "You come and sit with us whenever you want, and that will fix Miss Gwendolyn. She'll be so jealous you're with the older girls – especially the Princess – her eyes will pop out of her head." Delyth giggled a little hysterically, hiccupped, and looked at me with unconcealed admiration, which made me squirm a little. I made a face at Mae, who grinned wickedly back. "Dilwen, too, if she wants. We'll have our own little sewing circle, and no silly girls need apply."

Delyth was much comforted, and Mae drew her into talking of other matters. She's a sweet young thing and I shall be happy enough to have her join us in the sewing rooms, although it will be harder for Mae and me to discuss certain other matters. But perhaps it's just as well. It likely wasn't safe to be talking about Rhun and Taran and related complications with so many of the girls in such close proximity, anyway.

And so my circle of acquaintance expands, in a rather unexpected fashion. I've never kept much company with girls younger than I, but since according to Mae I can do no wrong in their eyes, it's not likely to be as uncomfortable an experience as I thought.

I half-wish I could teach them all to shoot or ride or do something useful besides all this dratted sewing and spinning. If I were really going to be queen here, I think that's the first thing I'd decree!

* * *

_Oh, did I just drop a hint at what Eilonwy's future reign might include? Sneaky me!  
_

_Rather a different sort of chapter here...a more intimate slice-of-life perhaps, but, I hope with greater ramifications later on. She's got to learn to be a leader at some point, so I'm going to have to build her a following._

* * *


	30. Pain Past and Present

Seventh of Edrinios, dark time

By the queen's orders, I've had to attend court the last three days during the hours after our noon meal, to watch the arbitration procedures. Apparently it usually falls to various lesser nobles to settle disputes for their underlings, but it's a tradition during this month that the people come directly to the king.

It's rather interesting to observe, though a bit frightening to imagine if the king were anyone harsher than Rhuddlum. It's clear he tries to be fair, but it seems terribly hard to please everyone, and I find myself biting my tongue sometimes so as not to say something rude to those who sulk after his verdict. After all, they agreed to take their grievances to court in the first place and knew very well they must abide by the king's decision, whether it suited them or no.

It goes on for four or five hours at least, every day, and one begins to despair at the number of stolen sheep and illegally diverted streams in this world – nay, on this island alone! What makes grown people act so ridiculously? Perhaps if there were no kings or nobles at all, and men had to settle their own quarrels without running to someone higher up, we'd see an end to such nonsense. But what heresy I'm talking! I should casually mention it to the queen, and see if it puts a damper on this betrothal-to-Rhun business.

On the other hand, it must be what Fflewddur's subjects do all the time, unless he has a queen at home he's never mentioned who tends to such things. I can't imagine any woman putting up with that wandering foot of his, though, so I think not.

How odd it is to imagine! As odd as the thought of Morgant having a wife, or Smoit, and yet chances are they have, if for no other reason than to sire an heir, which, from the attention that receives, seems to be one of a king's primary duties. Even Math was married once, but luckily for us Gwydion is next in line as his nephew, since the High Queen died childless.

It's strange how one never hears of any of the cantrev kings having queens. Poor women, so neglected. I wonder what their names are, and whether they _wanted_ to be queens or were made to marry their kings for alliances or bids for power. I wonder if they spend all day sitting in dreary castles embroidering tapestries and managing the storehouses and worrying whether their husbands will return from the latest skirmish on the borders, or if their children will even live to inherit their thrones or be assassinated by some usurper.

Doesn't it all sound pleasant! Llyr, I shall be happy at Caer Dallben.

Delyth and Dilwen have been sitting with Mae and me at sewing since the incident a few days ago. It was amusing to watch Gwen's and Eleri's jaws drop when they saw us all together, chatting away, and I could see that Delyth was pleased – she was practically squirming with suppressed triumph, a mild vindictiveness I suspect should not be encouraged, but it was satisfying to see the tables turned for once. Mae got me to tell them a few stories of my adventures on the quest for the Crochan and on the way to Caer Dathyl, and they were spellbound, their embroidery needles lying untouched in their laps. I wonder if that's how it feels to be a bard, and have people hanging on your every word. It's decidedly pleasant. I was even able to ignore the occasional gasp and "tsk" from the elder ladies within earshot.

Reminiscing about the Crochan-quest made me rather melancholy, though, as it set me to remembering Adaon again. I had, in the course of the telling, painted such a compelling picture of him (not that I'd exaggerated in the slightest) that I think the little girls were quite taken. I thought everyone knew what had happened – Taliesin is just short of royalty as far as status, and Adaon's name had become almost as well-known, so one would think news of his death would travel fast and far. And so it did – Mae knew about it, at any rate; but I suppose the little ones were too young to care or remember if they'd heard about it at all. Consequently when I told them of his dying they were quite upset, even though I tried to gloss over the worst of it. Delyth was in tears.

"Why do the best ones always die?" she whimpered. "It happens in all the stories, and this one's _true._ It's not fair."

Mae and I exchanged glances, and I wondered what to say. There was nothing to be said, really, because there was too much truth in it.

"We all die," I pointed out, "there's no use complaining about something that happens to all of us, sooner or later."

"Well," Delyth sniffed, "it ought to be _later_ if you're good, and _sooner_ if you're not."

I wanted to laugh; it was such…such logical _nonsense. _And yet I daresay it's what all of us really believe, or wished we could, before we grow up and learn that things don't work that way.

I still wish it. But I'm not quite grown up yet.

Adaon somehow understood such things. He never complained. Even while dying he seemed at peace. He knew it was happening and accepted it, while we were rushing around, carrying water, fumbling through saddlebags, spilling herbs everywhere, trying to keep busy, to do _something_ so that we wouldn't have to think about how terribly he was wounded, as though somehow if we could keep moving he wouldn't die. He was the calm center that we whirled around in a panic…he the warm, quiet hollow place in the woods where he lay, and we the empty winds shrieking and tossing the trees outside it.

I refused to see that he was dying, even to speak the word to myself, and kept my back turned to him while I tried with shaking hands to pour water from the flask into a bowl. For all the good it did. I wasted water trying to steep useless herbs when I should have been offering a last sip to a dying man. Blast it! I don't know why that's never occurred to me before, but now it's going to haunt me.

Taran was braver, or maybe just more desperate. He never left Adaon's side. I don't know what all they said to each other; he still won't talk about it. When I came hurrying with the water, Adaon's eyes were already shut, his face grey, and Taran was clutching his hand as though he could hold his very spirit to earth with it. I knelt next to him, limply, knowing he was gone and yet still not believing it. It simply didn't seem possible that someone so full of life and joy could be gone…that a mind so full of wisdom and love could be silenced forever, before being able to share its wealth with the world. Dimly I remembered some old legend about a man so perfect the gods were jealous, and were always thwarting him at every turn. I'm sure Adaon himself would have laughed at the thought, but at the moment it seemed cruelly likely.

Everything seemed suddenly very silent and still, and a weight like I'd swallowed a stone settled somewhere under my ribs. I stared at the bowl of water in my hands and thought numbly that I was supposed to cry…didn't people cry when someone died? Heaven knew I cried easily enough to vex myself over it at other times, but now, just for sheer perversity apparently, I couldn't. I couldn't feel _any_thing…even the sharp stick I had knelt upon that was digging into my leg, which I discovered later when I got up and realized I was bleeding.

I didn't know what to do anymore. While Adaon was still alive there was only the next task – bring water, tear bandages, find herbs, quickly, quickly, don't _think_ – but now there was nothing. For a moment I couldn't even remember why we were there at all, only that it had to all be some dreadful mistake.

Taran was still clutching Adaon's hand, his head bent over it. He was turned away from me a little and I felt as separated from him as though there were a wall built between us. I wanted to reach out to him, to comfort and be comforted, and yet I couldn't.

It was Gurgi who presently broke the spell, and not by saying anything. He had crouched at Adaon's other side, and sat looking from his still face to Taran, to me, and back again, his poor expression befuddled and confused, his eyes beseeching us silently to somehow make things well again. Finally he settled himself quietly down in the leaves at Adaon's side, curled up against his ribs, and laid his furry, disheveled head on Adaon's chest. His whiskers would have tickled Adaon in the chin if he could have felt them.

There was something in his patient, innocent devotion that broke my heart. In furious grief I shrieked and flung the bowl I carried at a nearby boulder, the water sloshing us all and the earthenware shattering. I wished I had a hundred of them – if I could smash everything around me perhaps I'd feel less like _I_ was being broken to pieces.

I'm not sure what I did. I still could not cry, but I remember scrabbling around, trying to find something else I could get my hands on to destroy, clawing at my own hair, until Taran grabbed me by the wrists. He was shaking. The wall between us crumbled, and finally I wept, sobbing into his shoulder while Gurgi got up and tried to climb into both our laps at once, and somehow even in the midst of it all I could still notice how he smelled of wet dog, which made me disgusted with myself – as though something so trivial were even worth_ noticing_ now.

I've never heard anyone cry as Taran did – had never seen him cry at all, not even when we had thought Gwydion dead after Spiral Castle collapsed. Somehow Adaon, in so short a time, had become so much to him – almost a brother, I think; more than a mentor or leader. He kept repeating that it was his fault, and I could get nothing else out of him. I supposed he felt guilty because Adaon had been wounded saving him. It wasn't until a few days later I remembered Adaon's dream, and realized Taran blamed his own choice to go after the cauldron for leading to his death. And I had been criticizing him all along for getting us into the mess we were in! How _could _I be so heartless?

We wept until we had no strength left; an hour perhaps, and yet something had to be done. It was Taran who first stood up, shakily, and said Adaon must be buried, for the Huntsmen were still prowling. I just stared at him, and must have looked as hollow and weary as I felt. What did it matter where the Huntsmen were? Nothing mattered. But when he began scraping at the earth with his sword blade I knew I could not leave him to do it alone. We had nothing to dig with, but cut up the turf in chunks, digging out the earth with our bare hands.

Somehow the work helped, as it had before; when you keep busy _doing_ something it's easier not to feel anything, except the dirt under your fingernails and the ache in your back. We were exhausted, all three of us, and it was slow going. I shall never forget helping to lift Adaon to lay him in the grave – the horrible weight of a man's body without the life in it. It gives me a shuddery feeling even now. I helped to lay the sod over him, but I couldn't bear to see his face covered. Taran did that, and I turned away until he was through, thinking of those grey eyes lifted toward the stars, shining as he sang.

When the boulders were placed, and flowers scattered, there was nothing more to do. Taran wanted to wait where we were until nightfall; Fflewddur and Doli needed to find us, if they had survived, and at least where we were it was sheltered from the cold wind. Gurgi handed out food from his wallet but no one was hungry; I picked mine apart and scattered it in shreds on the ground before I even realized I was doing it. There was never a silence so deep as the one that settled over us then. Even the horses seemed to hang their heads in mourning.

We dared not make a fire for fear of attracting the Huntsmen, and were too weary to care about setting a guard. . I felt somehow indignant that there could be any expectation of what we would do next – didn't the world know that everything should stop? That the very sun should go on so mercilessly setting and rising was an insult. Sleep was a relief when it came, although waking up was worse – remembering, all over again, what had happened, and feeling somehow guilty that I could sleep when Adaon was dead.

And then imagining how he would chide me – gently – for thinking anything of the kind.

Delyth is right. It _isn't_ fair.

But then I don't suppose Adaon would have changed anything about the way he lived, even if he had known how short the time would be. I doubt he'd have spent any time complaining about whether it was fair or not. He'd have worked and sang and laughed and loved everyone just the same as he was doing anyway, right up until the end. Simply because that was what he knew was right.

I wonder how many of us would make the same choice.

* * *

_A/N: This didn't start out as depressing; it just sort of **evolved** that way. My apologies to adaon45, who is probably simultaneously loving and hating it. I will try to come up with a happier _Cauldron_ memory in the future! _

_I sincerely hope that this chapter ends a long period of writer's block. Thanks to recent reviewers, whose words gave me a much-needed, though I'm sure unintentional, kick in the pants. _


	31. Unwelcome Revelation

Fourteenth of Edrinios, new moon

This is the fourth time I've tried to write tonight, and the first time it's come out anything like legible. My hand is still shaking so badly I just splattered ink all over the wall when I dipped the quill.

Another new moon, another nightmare.

I saw my father.

It was a dream. But it was real…a memory, as vivid as my own face in the glass across the room. Which would not be at all the stuff of nightmares, and I ought to be thrilled at such a memory coming back.

Except that I saw him die.

How utterly stark and simple and unassuming it looks, written out on clean parchment in black ink. It makes me want to tear the page out and rip it to shreds. Perhaps if I could write it in giant crimson letters on a battered stone wall, it would express the thing more accurately.

In the dream I was walking along a white sandy path, through a cluster of thatched cottages nestled between green hills. In a gap between the hills I could see a blue wedge of sea, glittering in the sunlight. The light was crystal clear, a bright mid-morning, and all around me the air rang with the sounds of sheep bleating and birds singing. Every blade of grass seemed sharp as a needle, glowing as an emerald. It should have been a pleasant, peaceful scene, nothing like the stuff of nightmares, and yet I walked with dread, a foreboding like a black cloud over my heart.

There was one cottage a little apart from the others, along towards the sea, and it was there I was heading as if drawn, while I wanted nothing more than to turn and run in the other direction. I kept straining to see further down the path past the buildings, expecting something – I didn't know what, only that I was terrified it would come.

While I was still some distance away I saw a man come bounding around the corner of the cottage with a child on his shoulders. He was tall and dark-haired, and he leaped and danced about like a deer and sang a nonsensical song, while the child, a little girl of two or three with a mop of fiery golden curls, shrieked with laughter.

My heart seemed to stop for an instant; then a jolt of energy spurred me into a run. I wanted to laugh and weep and scream all at once; my joy and the child's intermingling and the same, warring with my sense of some imminent but unknown disaster and grief.

I stopped short at the low stone wall that bordered the cottage garden, and stood unwillingly rooted to the ground. I shouted at the pair of them, but realized instantly that they could neither see nor hear me. They were close enough now for me to see clearly…the man's face was kind and merry, with chiseled black brows and very blue eyes. The little girl was barefooted and dressed in white, and very grubby.

A noise at the edge of the wall made them halt their game and look up, and I saw, with a horrible stab of impotent terror, a sight that didn't seem to warrant such a reaction. A middle-aged couple stood there; the woman broad, rosy, and pleasant-faced, the man hale and weathered and wearing a hesitant smile.

I barely heard their respective greetings over the roaring in my ears as I tried with all my might to move from the spot, but my feet seemed turned to stone. Dimly I was aware that the couple was asking for a place to rest from their travels for an hour or two, and heard the man with the child introduce himself as Geraint, and offer them the comfort of the shade of his cottage and whatever hospitality he could.

_Geraint_. The name throbbed in my head like an ache. He whirled the child down from his shoulders and set her on the ground, and a silver pendant dangling from her neck swung glittering in the air. The woman gave a nearly imperceptible start, and her figure seemed to waver for an instant, blurry round the edges like a reflection in a rippling pond.

"What a dear child," she crooned, in a matronly way, "such a pretty little lass!" She tilted her head in seeming concern at the dark-haired man. "I hope the darling is not motherless."

I screamed aloud that he should tell her nothing, but the air seemed to swallow my voice and I heard Geraint laugh heartily. "Nay," he assured her. "Eilonwy has her mother. My wife is but gone to gather herbs in the meadow yonder." He waved his arm toward the fields behind the cottage.

The woman laughed, "Ah, that is well. One sees too many wee ones bereft of a parent too early." She bent to the child, and reached to touch the silver chain. "What a pretty bauble you have there, love."

I felt my insides churn as the girl shook her head with a laugh. "_Dass_ not my bauble," she declared, reaching into a pouch at her waist. "_Dis_ is." And she pulled out what I knew she would – almost I could feel the Peledryn, cool and smooth, in my own palm.

The woman straightened suddenly, casting a commanding look at the man, and said in a voice I knew all too well, "She has it. Take her."

The roaring rose to a deafening pitch, mingled with the shrieks of strange voices and the jagged sounds of dark magic. I opened my mouth and the child's scream was my own as the old peasant man, now robed in shadow, darted forward like a diving hawk and seized her, tossing her over his shoulder and turning back to the road. Geraint…my father…stared in stunned disbelief for an instant – then his roar of rage rose above the clamor and he hurled himself at the woman blocking the path.

And suddenly I was not standing outside the wall but _was_ the child, my own younger self, watching over the shoulder of my captor as my father nearly succeeded in throwing down the woman – a woman no longer short and broad but tall and sinuous and malevolent. I saw his face, screaming out my name as she caught at him, her white hand clutching clawlike over his chest. There was a flash of sickly light; his face twisted in agony; I fought with all my strength, nearly out of my mind with terror. With a final hiss Achren pushed him away and his body crumbled to the earth and lay there like a pile of rags. I could not understand why he did not get up and come after us; I screamed until I was hoarse, until I had no breath, and the light failed. All went dark, and yet I kept on screaming.

I woke up still screaming, only no sound was coming out, and clutched at my pillows and wept.

I knew Achren had kidnapped me, but have never been able to recall how it happened, nor anything of my parents, and I don't want to imagine who her shadowy henchman was. Out of all the memories that have returned to me since I was at Caer Colur, this one I could have done without. Other bits of it have been coming back to me all this while, too, things that weren't in the dream at all…there were horses, and a band of rough warriors, Achren's harsh commands to them in a strange tongue, and some kind of syrupy thing she forced me to drink. A man's voice asking her something about "the other" and her answer that she was "of no consequence. The child has been given the Peledryn." I didn't understand it, then, but I suppose she was speaking of my mother.

I can't get the picture of my father's dying face out of my mind. It makes the whole thing terrible – even our playing together at the beginning, knowing what happens next.

Poor mother. What must it have been like, to come home and find him lying dead in the garden and I nowhere to be found? And whatever happened to her? Surely she must have searched for me.

I can't bear to go back to bed for fear I'll dream it again. Perhaps I have nightmares every new moon because I _expect_ them now, but I can hardly help that after the precedent they've set. Dallben used to tell me that if I could learn not to fear them, I would welcome them for what they revealed.

But if this is the only sort of revelation I'm going to get, I don't believe it's worth the heartache.

* * *

_Really hammering the death theme, aren't I? I'll try to get back to lighter fare soon, although I suppose I've created a bit of a headache for myself, as this should take her some time to get over._

_Sorry to go all HP on you all. I promise this idea was in my head long before we learned about baby Harry's traumatic first encounter with Voldemort, though I realize my word alone isn't much to go by._


	32. At the Brink

Sixteenth of Edrinios, light time

Having a terrible time these last two days. Can't sleep at night except in fits, and can't concentrate on anything during the day. Food tastes like dirt from the bottom of a shoe, or seems like it would if I could bring myself to touch it. It can't help but be noticed, and tonight at supper Queen Teleria asked if I was ill and sent me to my chambers to rest. She sent up a healer who looked me over, burned some strong-smelling herbs and asked a number of uncomfortably personal questions.

I'm not ill. It's just that I can't stop thinking of that dream. Wondering what else happened that I don't remember, and why…oh, a million whys, like mosquitoes buzzing round my head. And whenever I think of Achren I get so angry I want to smash everything in the room. I wish she'd been killed when Spiral Castle fell. Or in the deluge at Caer Colur. Or that Gwydion had let her stab herself on the beach when she tried. Why does _she_ always get second chances…or third, or fourth, or Belin knows how many she's had all her life, when she's never given even one to anyone else? And now she's _living_ at Caer Dallben – living in _my_ home, with _my_ loved ones, surrounded by _my_ favorite places…while I sit and embroider napkins in this tomb of a castle. What more of mine can she possibly invade? It feels as though no matter how many times I think I have escaped her, every facet of my life will reflect her in the end, in a million fragmented bits like a shattered mirror.

There is no one here who could possibly understand. Mae has noticed my mood, naturally, and has asked me what the matter is, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her more than I'd had a dreadful nightmare and was still getting over it. Of course she would listen and be horrified and sympathetic over my father's death, and no doubt she'd think me justified in my anger at Achren. But she doesn't _know_; she's never met Achren, doesn't know all about how it was before I came to Caer Dallben, and I don't wish to explain it all; I want to just forget it. Why couldn't I forget _that_, as long as I was forgetting things? What a shame it is we can't pull nasty memories out of our heads like weeds and burn them. And save the pleasant ones in jars so we can pull them out and look at them afresh when we're in danger of losing them.

I hate this place. I hate what living here is doing to me. I want to go home, to sleep in my own bed in my loft, to get up in the morning with the birds singing in the orchard and the chickens clucking in the yard and Coll whistling as he brings in the milk, and all the things that haunted me in the night faded into insignificance. I want Taran, who could always tell when I'd had another nightmare just by looking at me in the morning. For a while he would just say I was always more cranky at new moon, but once when I woke up crying in the middle of the night he had been coming back from getting a drink and heard me. He came up into the loft – all caution, as though he expected me to throw something at him, which maybe I should have done for propriety's sake – and crouched down an arm's length away while I gasped it all out. Goodness knows if what I said even made any sense, but he said nothing…only reached out and patted my hand, timidly, as you might pat a dog whose biting tendencies you weren't sure of. And I grabbed his hand and clutched at it like a rope that would keep me from dropping into an abyss.

He held it at an awkward angle at first, stiff and unfamiliar, while he told me about a nightmare he had had recently. You wouldn't think hearing about someone else's bad dreams would make yours start to dissolve, but it was actually helpful…to the point where now, as I write, I can't remember what my nightmare was, but I remember his. He was sinking in a bog with gwythaints circling overhead, and when one of them finally dived he felt its talons graze his head. Then he woke up and discovered a mouse was chewing off a piece of his hair, and in his dream-induced panic he sat up too quickly, banged his head on the wall and fell out of bed.

I laughed when he told me; a laugh that tried to come up at the same time as a sob and wound up being a kind of choked yelp. But it broke my fear, and the tension drained away like lost wax. He asked if I would be all right, and squeezed my hand with a grip that was suddenly sure and comfortable. I told him I was used to it, that the nightmares came every new moon. It was his idea that I tell Dallben about them.

I don't know why I hadn't done it already. But Dallben didn't invite confidences exactly, and in those early months I was still in awe of him. I had to catch him in good humor between meditation sessions, but when I talked to him he really listened. He didn't seem at all surprised by it, either; his questions implied that he'd rather expected some such thing. I daresay he knew more than he told me – not that there would be anything unusual about Dallben's doing _that_, on any topic.

His advice – about not fearing the dreams but seeking to learn from them – was sound, I suppose, and something I can use in the morning, when daylight and time chase away the terror. But when I wake up in the early hours with my heart pounding, and bodiless voices wailing in my ears, and the general sensation that something is crouching at the foot of my bed waiting to spring on me, all that sage wisdom isn't terribly helpful. All I want then is _not to be alone_.

Besides, though it usually helps so much to be able to _tell_ someone all the details of a harrowing dream, I'm not sure it would help with this one. Words seem like quite impotent things, somehow. If I could hurt Achren in some way by screaming my feelings aloud I'd do it, but merely recounting one more way she's hurt me just feels like giving her yet more control. I can almost see her, smirking over it. I'd cut out my tongue before I gave her the satisfaction.

I wish I had something to _do_, something that would take my mind off everything long enough to let it all lose some of the sting, something to make me exhausted enough to sleep, nightmares or no. Embroidery and weaving and deportment are all utterly useless in that regard. If they'd let me chop firewood or lay bricks or…or flog prisoners! Though I'm sure no one is ever flogged here. There are stocks in the courtyard but I've only ever seen them used for hanging laundry.

Perhaps another visit to the gardens would do me good. I'm sure swinging a scythe at things would be a relief, though as it isn't harvest time yet I shall have to content myself with pulling weeds. Too bad we've no mangrove patches; I rather itch to hear something scream.

I'm sitting in my casement and there are giant thunderheads on the horizon, brooding over the sea like vultures waiting for something to die. I hope we have a smashing storm tonight.


	33. News and Muses

18th of Edrinios, light time

News today! A message from Rhun, who has completed his travels over the island and is on his way home – he expects to be back in a se'nnight. The messenger came today while court was being held so the announcement was made with great fanfare, and there's a welcoming feast in the planning. I caught Mae's eye and flushed smile across the room and grinned at her…then felt the Queen's significant glance upon me and had to turn away to hide a scowl.

I'm a bit muddled about how I feel about his coming. I can't help but welcome the chance to think about something else, something _good_, which Rhun's return is bound to be. I hate feeling the way I've felt the last few days…snarly and despondent, and underneath it all a sort of angry boiling that never goes away. You can't be truly depressed when Rhun is around – his disposition is much too sunny for that, and he will be welcome company. But at the same time, it's been a relief not to worry about being paired up with him all the time, in reality or in various imaginations, if not my own. The only place I've seen anything close to the Queen's expression last night was on the face of the head groom sizing up a new brood mare at the stables. It's utterly humiliating and I welcome the day I can make my feelings clear and put a stop to all this nonsense, but until then I'm at the mercy of the royal wishes, in this as in all else.

Perhaps that is really what bothers me. I feel rather like a fly caught in a spiderweb, where every move I make only serves to tighten the threads of everyone else's expectations. Rhun's return is one more loop to be thrown around me, and the more I struggle the more stifled I feel. How do the girls who grow up in such a place withstand it? Their whole lives are laid out for them before they are even born, and they do not seem distressed…but perhaps it's because it has always been so for them. The horse that has never galloped free doesn't mind the stable and harness, maybe. And it could be that it feels safer. I wonder if it felt strange and even a bit frightening for my mother to leave her place and all she knew – for surely having grown up in her proper role she was bound by it even more than I, notwithstanding her rumored strong will. At least she drew the line at having her marriage arranged!

I wish I could somehow remove myself enough for Rhun to notice how besotted Mae is with him. I rather believe he'd be so tickled and amazed at her adoration he'd return it on the spot. As for royal obligation, she's more qualified for queenship than I am…every bit as capable and far more familiar with the ins and outs of court life, since she's grown up within it. In fact, if Rhun were to die unmarried and heirless, the throne would pass to Mae's eldest brother, so everyone in the family is well-schooled. I wonder why on earth such a suitable match hasn't been suggested already just between the two families, unless it's simply that they've been holding out for some alliance with a more powerful neighbor, and failing that, seek the supposed prestige of adding the last daughter of Llyr to their lineage.

Don't I sound like I'm plotting with the best of them, now! I had neither use for nor understanding of such social and political maneuvering when I came here. All the history and government lessons and court gossip must be sinking in somehow despite the alleged thickness of my skull.

Well, I am determined. I won't have my best friend here being made miserable because the object of her affections thinks he has to court me out of misplaced noble obligation. I must make him _see_ her somehow. Queen Teleria says a wise woman knows how to subtly influence those in her sphere for the good of all…so we shall see how far my influence reaches. Won't she be thrilled to know how I am taking her words to heart!

But back to Rhun, or rather, his message, which mentioned that he had returned to the glittering caverns, and there had been no sign of Glew. So either he has perished within – horrible thought – or he has somehow escaped, which must mean he's been shrunken to his original size, since I'm sure there would be rumors if a giant had been gallivanting about the countryside. I hope, if such is the case, he is properly grateful to Dallben, but I wouldn't hold my breath on the matter given what I heard of him. I never saw anyone so bent on blaming everyone else for all his ills, and I half wish someone would give him a taste of _real_ trouble just for perspective.

I took my own advice and spent some time in the gardens yesterday, rather hoping to run into the same woman I'd spoken to at such length last time…something in me craved seeing someone who'd known my mother. But the lady wasn't there, and not knowing her name I couldn't even ask about her. It did help my tumbled emotions to be out in the sun and air, where the smell of earth and green things growing were comfortingly like Caer Dallben. And seeing the wall, I remembered that barrow-ground on the other side – the one I discovered last full moon after swimming and determined to revisit. The dream had driven it completely out of my mind, but now I am set on seeing it more than ever. If there is anything of my ancestry there perhaps knowing so will stop my feeling so achingly alone and...and unmoored. Strange that I never had a sense of my loneliness before, when I knew my parents were dead but not any of the particulars. How is it that nothing has changed and yet, seemingly, everything?

I wonder what my life would have been if Achren had not intervened – how our family would have lived. The cottage in my dream reminded me vaguely of Caer Dallben, although there was no farmyard or outbuildings and only a small garden. The general belief is that my father was a traveling performer, so perhaps they never settled in one place for long. What a free life that would be – always adventuring and moving on like the vagabond camps. And yet there is something wholesome and satisfying about putting down roots in one place, too, learning its trees and hills and waters, growing and changing and moving through the seasons until you belong to the land. That was Caer Dallben, and I think I would prefer it at last over the excitement of endless wandering. There is something in most folks that needs home. The bards all have itching feet, but even Fflewddur goes back to his kingdom now and again.

And now I have made myself homesick once more. Confound it! It's a self-indulgent sort of misery.

Would mother have been perfectly happy sewing and weaving, cooking and gardening, raising children? Or would she have missed life at Caer Colur and all the pageantry and activity of court? And father…I know so little about him, other than he must have been something of an impertinent rascal to charge through the gates of propriety and tradition in order to win mother. I'm sure life with him would have been out of the ordinary, whatever else it was. I wish I _knew_…somehow the childhood I should have had, every moment unspent with my family, has become a great aching emptiness in my heart that wants to engulf all else. How can something that never existed feel like such a heavy weight?

There _was_ a storm the other night, after I wrote – a wild, glorious mayhem that shook the very towers. With the state I was in, I found myself unafraid at the prospect of the castle crumbling around me…I almost wished it would. At least, if something dreadful and dramatic happened, it would seem as though the world was acknowledging my distress instead of going merrily, heartlessly on. I know now why all the stories say the gods throw thunderbolts. I wish I had a few.

* * *

_I'm having serious writer's block...hence what I feel is the "staticness" of this chapter. Sorry, y'all; there is some fun coming up, but I have to work up to it...can't have her feeling murderous and depressed one instant and all fluffily reminiscent the next. You don't get over witnessing your father's murder in a few days, and naturally it has drawn her inward. Anyway...Rhun's return and Glew's eventual arrival should give me some extra material to work with, so bear with me._

_Thank you all for your comments on the last chapter! I know better than to promise I'll be better about updating..they happen when they happen, and currently I am nearly eight months pregnant and caring for a two-year-old with a broken leg. Life is...full. _


	34. In Hot Water, more or less

20th of Edrinios, light time

To try to turn my mind to lighter matters than it's been on of late, and in keeping with my resolve to throw Mae at Rhun's head, so to speak, I invited her to supper and to spend the night with me last night, hoping she'd drop any helpful information. It certainly isn't difficult to get her talking about Rhun, although some of the awkwardness over our respective situations seemed to crop up again now that he's returning and she kept looking sideways at me and fiddling with her tableware at supper.

I was beginning to despair over her reticence, and then hit on the idea that if I began talking of Taran it would remind her how little she has to fear any rivalry from me, and all the better if I could make her laugh. So I challenged her to tell her most embarrassing moment involving Rhun if I'd do the same involving Taran. She agreed, and I related the following:

It was sometime during my last summer at Caer Dallben, a couple of months before I was sent here – just before Dallben made the announcement that I was to go, in fact. One day I was fetching water from the well back to the scullery, and my path happened to take me by the smithy where Taran and Coll were working, though Coll was elsewhere at that particular moment. It was their habit while smithing, particularly in warm weather, to strip to the waist to save their sleeves from getting charred, while they donned leather aprons to protect themselves in front. It was nothing I hadn't seen before and I had never given the matter a second thought.

So I wasn't exactly sure why, after a casual glance into the dim smithy as I went by, I should find the sight worth a second look and then a pause, and before I knew it I was standing there in the yard with my attention locked and the bucket of water dangling forgotten at my side. Taran was working alone, facing away from me, pounding at something on the anvil. I found myself riveted watching the muscles tense and release in his back, mysteriously fascinated by the fluid strength in his movements as the hammer rose and fell, by the way the curve of his shoulder turned and planed itself into his shoulder blade, like the smooth liquid slide of swift water over a stone. In a sudden burst of astonishment, I realized I was contemplating a desire to touch that bare shoulder. Shocked at myself, I tried to push the thought away, but it _wouldn't_ be pushed. So I stopped trying and just stood there staring, feeling oppressively warm and a little lightheaded.

It was sheer fated devilment that made him at that moment turn around to lay his finished work aside, and he caught sight of me at the very instant I realized he would. I broke into a startled walk, trying to look as though I had never stopped, an illusion I'm sure must have failed utterly. He called my name and came hurrying from the forge, and it was too late to pretend I couldn't hear him or was in too much of a hurry, though the thought of doing both made me waver and hesitate enough to look and feel idiotic.

Trying to regain my self-composure despite a face I could feel was crimson, I made myself turn and look at him. Fortunately, from the front, the battered leather apron was a state of dress far less distracting than the view from the rear. Seeming not to notice my consternation, he passed his grimy forearm over his brow, pointed at what seemed to be my midsection and asked, "Can I have some?"

I was still so flustered I didn't comprehend, and blurted out, "What?"

With an expression of baffled amusement he pointed again. "Water."

I looked down and realized I had unknowingly clasped the wooden pail to my chest with both arms, as though in need of some inanimate thing between us, and exclaimed, "Oh!" Well, it _was _one of my responsibilities to bring water to the men while they worked, but it wasn't what I'd gone after just then and I hadn't the proper accessories. "Er…"I stammered, "I…don't have the dipper or a cup."

He stepped up to me, his eyes on the water. "Never mind that; I'm dying." And both his hands reached out with the obvious intention of scooping up his own drink.

I gave a little shriek of indignation, and jerked back so hard that I sloshed water out of the bucket down the front of my gown. My skin crawling under its cold bite, I gasped out, "Don't you dare! This is clean water for cooking. Just look at your hands. I'd have to go back to the well."

He examined his filthy, sooty hands in annoyance. "Well, blast it all, why didn't you bring the dipper?"

I was exasperated now on top of being flustered and embarrassed - with him, with myself, with the whole silly situation, and such a combination disposes me to rash and impulsive behavior. I can think of no other reason for the truly mad thing I did next, which was, with an exclamation of "Oh, for goodness' sake" to plunk the bucket of water upon the ground and plunge my own clean hands into it, bringing them up cupped brimful and dripping and raising them toward him. "Here, then."

At the very moment I'd done it I realized what a brazen thing it was, or at least felt like. All the blood came rushing to my face again. I couldn't back down – that would make it worse. It was too late to do anything other than pretend nothing was extraordinary about the thing and carry on as nonchalantly as possible. But it wasn't very possible.

Taran's surprise and consternation were evident. He looked from my cupped hands to my face and back again helplessly. It occurred to me that until that moment he really had thought of nothing but his drink, and I could have escaped the situation with only my own embarrassment to plague me. Now he seemed, for the first time, to really look at my face, to notice my agitation. He glanced back at the forge, down at his leather apron, and cleared his throat. His hesitancy, and the thought that he might be contemplating what I had been doing there before he turned around made me so wildly uncomfortable I wanted to shove him, punch him, berate him, as though it were somehow his fault for being so…for attracting my attention in the first place. "Well, go on," I snapped. "You said you were thirsty, didn't you?"

Without a word he lowered his face to my hands. Belin knows how I kept them from shaking like leaves. His hair fell forward, grazing my wrists, and I screwed my eyes shut and tried to think very banal ordinary thoughts, without much success. He drank until his lips grazed my palm, and then straightened up abruptly, looking rather thirstier than before. His eyes glowed like emeralds in his soot-darkened face.

I checked myself from the insanity of asking if he wanted more.

Without another word I picked up the bucket and marched past him, back to the nice cool scullery where I pondered whether the relief of dumping the whole blasted pail over my own head would be worth the second trip to the well.

It does make a good story, now, though I flushed a little in the telling, and even, truth be told, in the writing – mostly at how I could have been so foolish, my first mistake having been to stop and watch at all – but really, it's not as though that had been my intention going out. Mae loved it though, pretended to fan herself, and hooted over my blushes. She asked if he'd ever mentioned it again, and of course he didn't…neither of us did; we simply pretended it never happened, rather like that moment on the ship.

Mae wondered aloud, a bit petulantly, why fate never threw her into such situations. I told her fate favors the reckless, foolish, and uneducated, while courtly etiquette and a good upbringing stifle its best efforts.

Anyway, the trick worked – Mae relaxed and waxed eloquent on all things Rhun. But just now it is late and I am sleepy, so I shall have to mull it over for a while before writing it out.

* * *

_*ahem*_

_After the last three serious chapters, I figured we could all use some amusement. Even if it's a trifle risque. They are teenagers, after all. _


	35. Homecoming

26th of Edrinios, light time

We are, to quote Teleria, all in uproar. Rhun is home.

He returned yesterday afternoon. It was expected, and scouts had seen the entourage coming miles off, so the pomp and fanfare were elaborate. Trumpets and banners and cheering courtiers, and little girls throwing flowers; all quite lovely and gay and I couldn't help enjoying it – except the bit where the Queen drafted me into making some wordy welcoming speech and hanging a wreath of posies around his neck.

It was good to see him, though. He has changed a bit while he was away – his face has lost some of that round puppyish quality, there are angles in his chin and cheeks, and his bearing is straight and confident and less clumsy. He is even – yes, I'll say it – handsome now, where he wasn't before. His fair hair is bleached almost white, and his eyes are clear and merry and joyful in a way only Rhun's eyes could be. They positively twinkled at me during that silly speech, as though he knew exactly how I felt about it and it tickled him. And he looked so ridiculous with flowers around his neck I couldn't help laughing – but it was a good kind of laughter, all light and bells and silver, with no sour notes, and I haven't laughed that way in weeks.

There was feasting, naturally, and in three days there is to be a real ball, such as I have heard about but never experienced, a test of my new dancing abilities. I fear I am to be expected to lead out the first dance with Rhun, and I want to crawl into a hole somewhere. Not out of self-consciousness over my lack of dancing skill, though that is prodigious – but because of the significance of the gesture. However, I do have hopes that it may present me with an opportunity to speak with Rhun privately about the whole business, and perhaps…stealthily…steer him toward the pining Mae.

Because she _**is**_ pining. His newfound maturity has undone her completely. She could barely talk to him at the feast last night, though we were all sitting near one another; every time he made a comment to her she went scarlet and muttered at her plate. I wanted to pinch her for being so impossible and…and insufferably _girlish_, but she was too distant for my teasing. My being chosen for Rhun's welcoming ceremony hurt her, even though we both expected it, and I couldn't bear making it worse – and yet that was what happened, because of course since she wouldn't talk to Rhun he talked to me instead, and I couldn't not respond. I kept trying to herd her into the conversation, but she wouldn't be herded…just sat there trying not to look at him.

I know why she's doing it. She knows her face gives her away when she's around him. Anyone with one good eye in his head could see it, except somehow Rhun himself, and she is mortified at the thought that the king and queen, or indeed anyone else in court, should suspect her of being in love with someone universally known to being imminently betrothed to someone else. Oh, it makes me want to eat nails. I know she still thinks, in spite of my reassurances, that my marriage to Rhun is all but inevitable. Mae isn't used to flouting authority. Fortunately I have plenty of experience in that area.

Rhun was full of stories of his travels, relating eagerly how he had spent time on a fishing boat helping haul the nets, talking to the harbor merchants and looking over their stock, time with the shepherds in the highlands, trying his hand at shearing. In true honest Rhun-fashion he told the bad with the good, laughing over his own mishaps, which included, among other things, being run up a rock face by an overly-protective sheepdog and toppling backwards into a fishwife's rubbish pile, which made him reek for days and drew every cat for twenty miles. "Not very forgiving creatures, cats," he grinned, holding up a wrist scrawled with the white scars of claw-marks. "When they found out I wasn't some enormous dead thing, they wouldn't put up with my peacemaking efforts at all."

I confess the idea of Rhun struggling with a sheep was amusing. But it makes sense, now that I think of it, that a king (or future one) should go out among his people and see how they really live. To get his hands dirty with the sort of work that seems below him. I was proud of him.

There was a moment he grew sober and quiet, and picked at his meat thoughtfully. When pressed, he sighed, and told of one family whose young daughter had died of a fever the very day they arrived. The family was carrying her out just as he came near the house.

"All I could see of her," he said quietly, "were her little feet, hanging out of the crook of her father's arm. They were so small…"he stopped for a moment, and I had to lean forward to hear him. "And I felt, somehow, like it was my fault. Like I could have done something."

I sat back, dismayed. "Rhun. Children…all people…get ill and die. You can't save them all, no matter what you do."

He glanced up quickly, his eyes brilliant and troubled, and back down. "I know. But it seems like I _should._ You should have seen how the mother looked at me. As though she hated me for it."

"She was grieving," I said, pained to see such sadness on his face – so out of place, like a corpse in a field of flowers. "People say and think all kinds of irrational things when they are mourning."

"Perhaps," he acknowledged, and the conversation turned to other things.

He didn't say whether the family couldn't afford a healer, or had no access to medicine, or if they were poor and malnourished to begin with. But I could see him thinking grand, desperate, impossible thoughts that all began with "when _I_ am king…" It's a terrible responsibility, really. Why anyone fights over the right to rule is beyond me. Magg was a fool. Not that I believe _he _would have troubled himself over the death of anyone's child.

It was a lovely time, though, overall. Rhuddlum and Teleria were so visibly proud of him, and everyone was so joyful and lively. I do hope the ball will be more of the same. I've the most heavenly gown to wear – all blue velvet and silver embroidery, with tiny crystal jewels. It looks just like a star-strewn sky. I wish Taran could see me in it. Though he'd probably not notice at all, or just say I looked terribly uncomfortable!

Humph.

I just read over what I wrote, and laughed at myself. First that I even thought to mention what I was wearing, and then that I managed to get irritated with Taran for disappointing me when he's not even here! The truth is I spent several moments, after writing that I wished he could see me, daydreaming about exactly that. And in my dream, his reaction was…well, never mind. Just by the end of it I felt so fluttery and warm that I had to pull myself back by imagining a more realistic scenario. Which then made me annoyed with him! I have clearly gone mad.

Well, anyway, I will admit that there is a distinct pleasure in wearing beautiful things and knowing you look nice in them. I've always been scornful of the way the girls here twitter over their clothes and spend hours primping, and I shouldn't want to stoop to that sort of vanity. And it's certainly true that the more beautiful something is, the more likely it is to be uncomfortable and impractical. Yards of skirts that you trip over. Shoes that pinch and make you walk as though your toes have been cut off. Bodices laced so tightly you can hardly breathe. Crowns that fall off unless you hold your head just the right way. Give me a good pair of leggings and a linen shirt any day over the idiotic frumpery that pervades these courts.

But…for special occasions, I can resign myself to the sacrifice. One doesn't expect to be doing practical things in formal attire, anyway. Fancy chopping wood in a ball gown, or…or cooking with a crown on! Perhaps that is the secret reason for such clothing. Nobody can accuse nobility of being useless if the reason they can't do any honest work is because they aren't dressed for it.

Belin, I'm full of nonsense today. All the merriment last night and excitement over the ball is making me silly. It won't do; I'm supposed to be thinking up strategies about Rhun and Mae, and that may take all the mental acuity I possess.

.

* * *

_Over a year since my last update. I KNOW._

_I'm sorry y'all. It's just...my mind is this haze of coupons and diapers and preschool workbooks and runny noses and that weird smell in the garage. I am domesticity personified and I am totally happy with that, but it doesn't leave a lot of time for writing frivolity. It was looking at my last publish date and realizing how long it had been that prompted me to sit down during naptime and force something out; it did not flow effortlessly and I feel like I have lost a lot of "voice", but I will do my best to push through the dry spell. I will never abandon this story - it just might take me the rest of my life to write it._


	36. Two Proposals

_A/N: Please note: the last chapter mentioned a ball that was happening that very night. Realizing the impracticality of throwing a gala on the spur of the moment that way, I changed it to note that the ball would be happening in three days - two of which have now passed. Sorry for any confusion._

28th of Edrinios, full moon

This evening, while I was musing over my dinner in my room and wondering if it would cause too much talk among the servants if I sent Rhun a private message asking him to meet me somewhere to talk, I was startled by a knock on my door. When I opened it, one of the menservants stood there – I don't know which, I can't keep them straight, as it seems to be one of their duties to be indistinguishable from each other.

"A message from the Prince, my lady," he announced, holding out a small sealed scroll. I took it, thanking him hesitantly – I can't get used to those bland-as-wax faces the servants maintain, as though they take no interest at all in what their masters are up to; I know quite well it's a sham, at least the way Eirlyss tells it. He stood there, waiting, I suppose, to see if it was a message that needed answering. I scowled at him a little, though it didn't do any good, as he was, like any good servant, looking at a spot on the wall across the room, not at me.

Turning away, I broke the seal and glanced at the message – not long, just scratched out in a spidery scrawl, a request to please meet Rhun on the battlements that evening if I were able.

I almost dropped it, and found myself feeling a bit strangled, wondering if fate were handing me an opportunity or dangling me over a parapet. It was one thing to ask Rhun to meet me – I knew exactly what I wanted to talk to him about! It was another entirely for _him_ to ask; something he'd never done before, though we'd often met on the battlements by chance, both enjoying a bit of an evening prowl, in the weeks before he left. It had to be something momentous and serious, and the only possibility that came to mind was not one I anticipated with any eagerness, unless perhaps a grim determination to have it over with could be called eager.

I set my face and looked out the casement; nearly sunset. He was likely already there waiting.

Dismissing the manservant (who bowed and departed with the same unchanged indifferent expression – blast him!), I downed the rest of my wine in one swallow and determined to make the best of things. I threw on a cloak – it was windy – and hurried up the corridor.

Rhun was there when I arrived, pacing in a disorganized way but brightening when he saw me. "Hullo, hullo!" His customary greeting lacked a little of its cheer. "I'm glad you could come. That message was a bit ninth hour, wasn't it? But it was all I could think of." I murmured something polite, too distracted by his unusual manner to think up anything clever. His smile was nervous, and he would not meet my eyes, turning instead to gaze out upon the plains beyond, his hands clasped behind his back.

A sudden rush of pity surged through me, even as I grew ever more certain about what was coming. It was so unlike him to be uncomfortable with me. For a brief moment I hated his parents for forcing him into what he was about to do.

There was no point in dancing around and prolonging both of our awkwardness. "You're upset about something," I observed, leaning against the wall beside him. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

He laughed, as though relieved at my intrusiveness, and really looked at me for the first time. "Well…yes, and no." He ran a hand through his pale hair, standing the curls wildly on end. "You see, it concerns you, and I'm not sure how you'll…" He stopped, gestured in the air with one hand, and cleared his throat.

The silliness of the whole situation suddenly broke upon me and I found myself relaxing against the wall, chin in hand and elbows propped on a merlon. I grinned at him. "Shall I make this easier for you? Let me try to guess."

Rhun's eyebrows rose, and I shut my eyes. "Let's see…it's either that my progress has been deemed hopelessly slow, so your mother has determined to indenture me to the beekeepers…" I paused, and he chuckled. "Or…the king and queen think that the upcoming ball would be the perfect opportunity to announce the betrothal of the Prince of Mona to a certain Princess of Llyr."

His breath came out in a great whoosh of air. "You _knew?"_

I opened my eyes. "I've known since…well, a long time. Nobody keeps secrets very well around here, you know."

"I—well," he said, and then ran his hand through his hair again, looking at me as though he wanted to say several things and wasn't sure what to put first. Abruptly he turned around, put his back to the wall, and began speaking very quickly towards his own feet.

"I told them it was no good, of course. They're set on it, so I told them I'd ask, to please them, but…I know quite well you wouldn't…wouldn't…well. You wouldn't, would you." It came out like a statement of fact, not really a question at all, and his eyes did not leave his feet.

Oh dear. I scowled at the rising moon, hating myself for not being able to give him a different answer. Hating the world for expecting me to be something I'm not. But I couldn't hate _him_, and so I said it as gently as I could. "I can't, Rhun." He was quiet, and, feeling like I had drowned a whole sack full of kittens, I reached out to touch his arm. "You are a dear, kind, excellent—man," (I had almost said 'boy'!) "and you will be a wonderful king. But I can't marry you."

"I know," he answered, straightening up and smiling at me – a real, sincere smile, with only a trace of regret. "I've known since…quite early on." He shrugged. "It appealed to me, when I first found out Father's plan for you. Bit of a romantic notion, you know, the joining of the houses and tradition and all. That was before I even met you, of course, and then after we met it was even more appealing." He turned a little pink, and grinned at me. "But…well, I may not be the brightest torch in the hall, but I'm not blind. And I'm not about to insist on a marriage to a girl whose heart belongs to someone else."

My turn to blush. And change the subject. "I'm sorry to disappoint so many. Your parents have been so generous and kind to me. It's a poor way to repay them."

He waved this away. "They didn't bring you here just to see me married, you know. Their hospitality will stand for as long as you want it. Or Dallben wants it. Or whoever made the decision. Mother will rampage a bit, and Father will say you take after your mother's side, and that one stubborn woman in the family is enough." He laughed, freely, joyously, his true, real, lovely Rhun-laugh, and I don't know what came over me, but I obeyed a sudden impulse and threw my arms round him, hugging him quickly, and smacked a kiss squarely on his cheek. "You really are a darling, Rhun."

He was pleasantly stunned, and put a hand to his face where I'd kissed him, turning pink again to the roots of his hair. "Um…well. Thank you."

As he rather looked as though he were going to ask if I were _sure_ I couldn't marry him, I took advantage of his momentary confusion to begin my own machinations. "About the ball…"

"Mmm?" he murmured, shaking his head as though to clear it.

"I've heard a rumor that you'll be expected to dance the first dance with me, as the guest of honor," I told him. "Is that true?"

"Yes," he admitted, "but of course it was also to lead up to the big announcement."

"I thought so," I sighed, "but --circumstances being what they are - I wonder if we could get out of it somehow. I'm an abysmal dancer, you see, and will make you look like a complete fool." It's true enough. Nobody picks me for a partner in the lessons; they've learned better.

"I'm not much of a dancer myself," he confided, "so you needn't worry about that."

Oh, delicious, a perfect opening. "All the more reason to choose someone who knows what she's doing, then," I urged confidently. "You are the crown prince, and one day will be king. It wouldn't do for the court to see you looking idiotic in the first dance. A good partner could save you that shame."

He looked thoughtful, considering, but then hit a snag. "But as guest in the house, you really are owed the first dance. Tradition dictates it."

"Oh, Llyr," I sighed. "I've been here three months now. I rather think I'm past the 'guest' stage, don't you? Or isn't there anyone else here who would qualify? What about…" I made a face as if wracking my brain. "What about that…that distant cousin of yours? Maelona? She's a guest, isn't she? Isn't her home on the mainland?"

"Mae?" he repeated, looking surprised. "Oh…well. I never thought of her as a guest. But I suppose she is, now you mention it. Mae…" He bit his lip. "Do you think she'd mind?"

Belin, I thought. You blind, idiotic, blundering, lovable boy. "I think not," I answered, "but you couldn't do any harm asking. She's a good dancer, and nobody would think it strange. She is family, after all."

"That's true," he said brightly. "She's a friend of yours, isn't she? I've always liked Mae. She's different, somehow, than the other girls here."

Very, I agreed silently. "I like her, wonderfully. And you could do worse than ask her. She'd make you look like a proper king. In the dance," I added, hoping I hadn't said too much. But Rhun didn't seem to notice. He was looking at me with an affectionate, rather wistful smile, and took my hand in both of his in a friendly, brotherish sort of gesture.

"You'd have made a good queen, you know," he said, looking me unabashedly eye-to-eye. "And you'll make him look like a proper king."

"He's not…" I stammered, warm-faced and confused by the sudden shift, but Rhun only squeezed my hand, and bowed to me.

"I wish you a pleasant evening, Princess." And he leaned forward, kissed me lightly on the forehead, and turned and strode off down the outer wall.

I stood there a while, after he'd gone, until the battlements were all limned silver with moonlight. My thoughts were all jumbled-up exclamation points, a mixture of relief that it was over and he'd taken it so well, of mild satisfaction over his reaction to my suggestion about Mae, annoyance at how quickly he'd changed that subject, and absurd amounts of pleasure at his parting words. It was a sweet thing to say. Never mind that Taran will never need to look like any kind of king.

Now it's early in the wee hours of the morning, and I am too anxious over the coming day to sleep. Rhun was entirely too noncommittal over that dance with Mae for my liking; he was approving but not really enthusiastic, and if he mentions it to Teleria she will be sure to talk him out of it. And Teleria! Llyr, how I dread our next meeting. Rhun is sure to have told her and the king of my answer, and though I don't particularly mind their disapproval over small things, having to stay indefinitely as a guest in the household of the son whose affections you've refused does not strike me as a comfortable arrangement.

I suppose it beats Achren's dungeons, though.

.

* * *

_I'm falling in love a little bit with Rhun, which is going to make The High King even sadder for me from now on. He's the epitome of the "nice guys finish last" proverb, which I don't even agree with, and I refuse to have him go out without some happiness in the meantime. _

_I wasn't even planning to get to this point yet, but out of all the plot threads I tried to follow after the last chapter, this was the only one that unraveled itself for me. So there it is. It occurred to me that the king and queen would see no point in waiting, now that Rhun is home, to get him safely married, or at least betrothed. Of course this will make the remaining year or so at Dinas Rhydnant rather awkward for Eilonwy, but it can't be helped._


End file.
